Amongst The Rubble
by Madam RedRose25
Summary: At age 9, Stan was diagnosed as a hoarder. At age 13, the symptoms start up again, this time worse. Stan must face his problems once and for all if he ever hopes of being lifted from this condition that causes strife between family and friends.
1. Another Man's Trash

_**AMONGST THE RUBBLE**_

**A/N**: As soon as the episode "Insheeption" ended, I knew I had to write this. Stan cleaning out his locker bothered me; it is not that easy for a hoarder to give up his stuff. So what if he never did get over the hoarding? What if it returned, creating more problems than before?

**ONE MAN'S TRASH…**

_Friday, October 22nd, 2010_

2:55 PM. The clock was ticking its way to 3:00 which meant school would finally be over. But it meant far more to Stan Marsh. He had something very important to do right when the bell rang. It was so huge, so meaningful; it had been on his mind since the morning. That morning when he made a huge discussion in his life, which he was not regretting. So he bit his lip, drumming his fingers on his desks impatiently while Mr. Garrison explained the homework to the class.

"You will make sure you finish your 'If I were in charge of the world' poems over the weekend and have them ready to be read in front of the class Monday, or else!" he threatened.

2:58…

"C'mon…" Stan murmured, watching the minute hand.

"And no you may not use the one in your books! I already answered that Eric!"

Five…four…three…two…one…

BRRRING!

Stan leapt out his desk and hurried out the door, Kyle right at his heels.

"Dude, dude! What's your hurry?"

"I- have something I need to do," Stan said, looking around.

"What?"

"Nothing, just- don't worry about me."

"Are you going to come to my house after school or not?"

"I am. I just- have to talk to Mr. Garrison."

Kyle blinked. "If you had to why did you run out of class?"

Stan opened his mouth, thinking for a half second before answering, "I wanted to make sure the room was empty before I talked to him."

Kyle still looked suspicious.

"Look dude, I'm fine, I just have a question to ask him. Don't worry; I'll be at your house soon. I might stop at mine first so I can drop off my backpack but don't worry."

Sighing, Kyle left with Kenny in toe. Stan made sure his friends were out of sight before racing down the halls to where his locker was and over to the trashcan that was across from it. Making sure the halls were empty, he dug around inside it, frantically moving aside lunch trays and papers and whatnot before his hand finally found it- the handle of a trash bag. He pulled it out and opened it. Inside was junk, and plenty of it. He moved things aside and smiled in satisfaction when he found his moldy old sandwich, broken toothbrush, homework from second grade, a few soda cans- everything. All his stuff was in tact. How stupid was he to have thrown this out that morning? What was he thinking? As soon as he went to Mr. Garrison's class after throwing everything away, he knew he had made the wrong decision. He knew he needed his stuff back, and the whole day he didn't think of anything but how to get it back without anyone knowing. But now he had it, and he could store it all in his bedroom, safe from anyone. He lunged the trash bag over his shoulder and hurried home.

_Four years later…_

April had begun and this usually meant one thing to Sharon Marsh- spring cleaning. All major holidays were over, it was time to round up her family and have everyone work together to make the house look like new again. She had already taken out all cleaning supplies and trash bags so that when her kids got home from school, they knew immediately what they would be doing for the rest of the day. She passed by her son's room before sighing and opening it up- or tried to anyway. She pushed with more force and saw that behind his door was a pile of clothes. She plugged her nose; they had been sitting there for who knew how long.

That wasn't the only thing littering the floor- you name it, it was there. Books, hundreds of CDs, video games, baseball cards, soda cans, even a pizza box sat waiting to be thrown out. His bed was a mess; blankets tousled carelessly, cat toys about it from his two cats, and his science book. On his desk were a large pile of magazines, at least thirty pens and pencils, and a stack of papers; on another shelf were all his books, his 'collection' of drink bottles, his 'collection' of cool-looking rocks, and collection of Batman toys. On his wall sat three baseball bats, both his acoustic and electric guitar and speaker, and a broken chair. Last but defiantly not least, an open can of wet cat food, with food still inside, on his desk chair. Of course there were things crammed into his closet, but Sharon didn't even want to go there. No, today would be the day she would be able to walk into her son's bedroom without tripping over something.

The sound of the front door slamming open cracked her thoughts. Yelling was soon heard. Sharon went downstairs to see her kids in the kitchen fighting over the milk carton.

"I had it first!" Stan cried.

"I'm older so I get it first," Shelley teased.

"Goddamnit give it to me!"

Shelley poured herself a glass of milk before shoving it in her little brother's chest. She then took the plate of cookies into the dining room. After Stan poured himself milk Shelley began to push him back every time he tried to reach for a cookie.

"I'm hungry too you bitch!" Stan cried.

"Stanley!" Sharon's voice cracked.

Stan looked over to see his mom standing there. "Mom! She's hogging all the cookies!"

"Oh, but it's okay when _you_ do it?" Shelley bit.

"I never hog anything!"

"What about the bag of M&Ms last night?"

"Mooom!"

"Shelley just let your brother have some cookies, my goodness," Sharon said exasperated.

Sharon watched as her son grabbed his after-school snack, or, tried to at least. She watched as he looked at the plate of sugar cookies, trying to decide which one to eat first. He picked one up before setting it down and picking up another, before setting that one down too.

"Just grab one!" Shelley snapped.

"I need to get the right one!"

"They're all the same you idiot!"

"No they aren't!" Stan growled before moving the cookies around again. He finally settled on one and dunk it in his milk. Sharon frowned; she had been noticing her son doing things like this for a while now. She didn't think it was anything to worry over but it was odd to see him make decisions no matter how simple they were. Simple things like the meatballs in his spaghetti had become a chore, for they all had to be set a certain way.

As her kids began to relax into their snack, Sharon decided it was best to break the ice.

"Kids, have you noticed anything by the door when you walked in?"

Her son and daughter looked over.

"No?" Stan shrugged.

"I put out all the cleaning supplies. Today we are going to do our yearly spring clean-up."

Her kids gaped at each other like this was the worst news in the world before turning to her.

"Awww! Mom! The house doesn't need cleaning!" Stan whined.

"Yeah Mom, the house isn't even messy!" Shelley argued.

"It is so. The garage is still piled with all our winter things and there are still Christmas decorations that need to be put away in the basement. Don't get me started on your bedrooms…" Sharon crossed her arms.

"I can clean that up in ten minutes," Shelley said simply.

"Yeah, mine isn't even messy," Stan said.

His mother and sister laughed at this.

"I couldn't even open the door earlier because there was dirty laundry blocking it!" Sharon told him.

"I was going to put it in the hamper…"

"Can you even find your hamper in that disaster of a bedroom?" Shelley chuckled.

"Shut-up!"

"Kids!" Sharon snapped. "Now come on, this whole family is going to spend the day cleaning. As soon as your father gets home he's going to help to."

"I have homework," Shelley said.

"I have to practice my guitar," Stan told his mom.

"That can wait. Before anything, I want you two to clean your rooms. And you will do it or there will be consequences. Now finish up your snack and begin the cleaning."

With that, she went off upstairs. Stan went to his room and threw his backpack on his bed without a care. He heard meowing and smiled when his gray tabby Basha walked into his room and onto his bed. His mother poked her head in.

"Are you starting on your room yet Stan?"

"In a minute."

"In a minute usually means in an hour so do it now."

Stan groaned.

"You can listen to music but you have to start on this mess."

"Fine, fine," Stan rolled his eyes.

Thirty minutes had passed. Sharon opened the door to Stan's room again to find him on his computer.

"Stanley…" she sighed.

"In a minute!" he said impatiently.

She sighed. "I know how hard it is for you to clean, so do you mind if I pitch in?"

His heard turned. "What?"

"Let me help you clean. It will go by much faster if I do."

"You never help me clean."

"Well I am today. I want your room clear that badly."

Stan cast his eyes down, thinking.

"C'mon, I have a trash bag ready, let's get started," Sharon smiled, holding it up.

Stan's eyes grew wide. "Whoa wait- you just said clean. You didn't say anything about throwing things away."

"Well… well look at this place. Surly there are some things that should be thrown out?"

"I- I guess. But"-

"Then let's get started. I'll let you play whatever music you want."

Biting his lip, Stan finally gave in and put in a CD in his CD player and hit 'play'. Avenged Sevenfold soon began blaring in the room. Sharon approached his desk.

"How about we throw out these soda cans, hm?"

"But… but why? I mean, not all of them right?"

"They're empty," Sharon pointed out.

"Yeah but don't throw them out. They can be recycled."

"Okay, then let's put them in a special bag to take out to the recycling center," Sharon smiled.

She came back up with a plastic bag and began putting them in. Stan watched her almost fearfully.

"You're- you're just going to take it to the recycling center right?"

"You can do it if you want and get money back. It's your mess," she shrugged.

Stan bit his lip before taking out some cans.

"What are you doing sweetie?"

"I want to keep the Sprite cans."

"Why?"

"Sprite's my favorite soda. I want to start a collection with Sprite cans and stuff."

"Not _another_ collection," Sharon sighed. "You already have ten other 'collections' in the works."

"But it will be the coolest one yet. I mean how many people have a collection of their favorite soda?" Stan smiled.

Sharon was tempted to say no normal person did, but refrained. "Maybe you can start on that another time hon."

"But I already have six cans and three bottles in my room. I can start today!"

"Stan, please."

"I'll keep it in the basement so it's out of the way." Before she could say another word, Stan took hold of his Sprite bottles and cans and went downstairs. He came back up a few minutes later.

Sharon took hold of the pizza box and was thankfully able to toss it without an outcry from Stan. When she moved to his pile of magazines however he stopped her.

"What are you doing?" he cried.

"Throwing out"-

"Not those! I need those!"

"Stanley"-

"You can't throw them out, you just can't. I need all of them." He put his arms around them protectively.

"Why do you need two copies of the same magazine?" Sharon held up two copies of last month's Sports Illustrated.

"I was going to give one to James," he said, speaking of a fellow member of his baseball team.

"Then why haven't you yet?"

"He- well I wanted to give it to him for his birthday."

"That's in three months dear. Can't you just give it to him now?"

"No! Just- just don't touch them. I'll throw them out later," Stan fumbled.

The clean up of his bedroom did not go any smoother. While he was able to clear his bed of cat toys and such, he could not do much else. Sharon went from being sympathetic to being annoyed at his behavior. He became hysterical when she threw all the rocks from his shelf into the bag.

"Stanley Marsh, I am sick and tired of you holding onto useless processions! I am throwing these stupid rocks out once and for all!"

"No! No Mom, please! I need them!"

He began to shake, tears were in his eyes and he was breathing hard. Afraid he might suffer an asthma attack from the intensity of it all, she finally handed them back to him and he calmed down. She put her arms on his.

"Stanley, sweetie, I'm getting worried. You have so many things in your room, it's not good," she frowned.

Stan stared at her with wide eyes.

"Sweetie, you know what happened a few years ago. Remember? You were classified as a Level lll hoarder. Baby, look at me. Remember?" she forced his chin up.

"I just don't want you to throw these rocks out Mom…" he said softly.

"Can I throw out your bottles then?"

"No, I wanna keep those."

"Can I throw out all your Batman toys?"

"No! That was my first collection!"

Sharon sighed. "See honey? This is what I'm talking about. I'm getting worried."

"I can clean up my room myself…" Stan said, avoiding her look.

"Can you _really_ Stan?"

He nodded vigorously. "I promise I will. I'll- I'll clean it up, it'll look better in an hour, promise."

She sighed. "Fine, whatever. Do what you want. I give up."

"_Mom_!" Stan cried. He hardly ever heard his mother speak of giving up on him so that stung badly.

Sharon just shut the door behind her. Stan stood there, feeling lost. He looked at his rocks. He was tempted to just keep them in the trash bag but couldn't. He couldn't just throw out that cool sharp one, or that really round one. What about the jagged one that glittered in the light? No, he needed them. But he didn't want to disappoint his mother. _I give up_. She said she gave up on him. About a clean room. It was ridiculous. If she never gave up on him when he had a fit about learning cursive writing in fourth grade or that huge project about volcanoes two months ago, she shouldn't be able to give up on this. He put in another CD and went to work.

Sharon decided to give her son the benefit of a doubt and an hour later she went back to his room.

"Look Mom!" he said happily.

She looked around. All the clothes had been put away and his bed was made up, and his CDs and video games were in a tall pile, but the room was still crammed with stuff. Sure the floor was at least clear and she could see the blue carpet after so many months, but things were still stacked on the walls and desk and shelves. She could see the collection of forty rocks on the fifth shelf of his tall cabinet and all his magazines still sat on his desk. In her opinion it was hardly an improvement. But she cast her eyes on her son and saw how happy he looked, smiling proudly at his achievement.

"Well?" he waited.

Sharon forced a smile and kissed his cheek. "It looks better, thanks sweetie."

Sharon sat in bed with a book in her hand that night as her husband got ready for bed.

"Randy?"

"Hm?" he took off his pants, ready to go to bed in his underwear as usual.

"Have you noticed anything… different about Stan lately?"

Randy thought. "New color choice for his elastics?"

"I'm not talking about his braces Randy."

"New coat?" he guessed again.

"I'm not talking about his appearance at all."

Randy got into bed. "What then?"

"I'm talking about his behavior. I think he's been acting very, peculiar lately," Sharon trailed.

"How so? Has he gotten in trouble or something?"

"No. he's getting along fine with his friends and teachers as far as I know, and is doing okay grade-wise. But something is just different about him."

Randy clicked off his table lamp. "I don't know Sharon, seems the same to me."

Sharon sighed as she set down her book. "Didn't you find it odd how long it took him to choose a dish of pudding for dessert tonight?"

"Not really. He's been doing that for years."

"Maybe, but not for that long. It never used to take two minutes to pick out the right 'anything' when he was eight. And have you walked into his room lately? Don't you find it strange how many 'collections' he has now?"

Randy thought for a moment. "I don't think it means anything Sharon. So the kid likes to collect things. Everyone does."

"Does everyone own ten different collections?"

"Well uh, maybe not everyone…"

"He has- from what I remember- a collection of baseball cards, a collection of rocks, a collection of bottles, a collection of magazines, a collection of Batman toys, a collection of socks, and a collection of pens and pencils. Get this: just today when trying to clean his room, he told me he wanted to start a collection of Sprite cans and bottles! He has nine sitting in the basement right now, waiting for it to grow!" Sharon exclaimed.

This caught her husband's attention. "Sprite? Really? Why the hell would he want to keep Sprite cans?"

"According to him, he thinks it would be really cool to have a collection of things related to his favorite soda," Sharon rolled her eyes.

"But that's ridiculous. A pile of soda cans lying about? What value is that?" Randy asked wildly.

"That is exactly what I've been trying to tell you! It is of no value! None of his collections are. The only thing of any kind of value might be his baseball cards and Batman toys. Everything else is just…"

"Junk?" Randy finished.

Sharon set aside her book on her nightstand now. "What are we going to do Randy?"

"About what?"

"I'm starting to get the feeling Stan's hoarding problems are returning."

Randy sighed dramatically as he got under the covers. "C'mon Sharon, that was four years ago. He's been fine then. His locker has been clear since then."

"While his room has gotten messier since then," Sharon added. "He doesn't even have a locker anymore in Jr. High, Randy."

Randy was on his side now trying to sleep. "Stan's fine honey, just go to bed."

"I think he may have a form of OCD," Sharon continued, still sitting up.

Randy groaned. "You always fret over him."

"I'm usually always right too. I've been reading up on hoarding and OCD for a while now. Stanley defiantly shows signs he may have it, or both. Well, we already know he was a hoarder years ago but"-

"Can I go to sleep or are you going to ramble on?"

Sharon glared at him. "Sorry I care about my son."

"Hey, he's my son too!"

"By blood but you hardly ever take over discipline, health matters and doctor appointments, school work, anything. And when you do take over those things, you get overdramatic and unrealistic about them! And don't get me started on how extremely _unsupportive_ you are of him wanting to try out for baseball next year!" Sharon snapped. She stood up. "I'm going downstairs to think. I'll be back up sometime."

One week later Sharon sat in the waiting room of a physiatrist's office. She mindlessly flipped a magazine as she wiggled her leg nervously. She wasn't overreacting; she had every right to worry for her son.

"Mrs. Marsh?" smiled a woman named Dr. Bentley at the other end of the room.

Sharon gratefully shook hands with the woman who was slightly younger than her.

"Thank-you so much for allowing me to see you."

"Of course, why don't we talk about things in my office?"

Sharon took a seat behind the doctor's desk.

"What seems to be the problem Mrs. Marsh?" asked Dr. Bentley.

Sharon sighed. "I'm worried about my son. You see, I'm beginning to suspect that he's acting out of control. I think he may be hoarding. And that's not it, I'm really beginning to suspect that he may have some symptoms of Obsessive Compulsive Disorder and"-

"Oh, OCD?"

"Yes. For a while now he's been doing things I cannot remember him doing when he was younger. He has problems making even the simplest decisions, he's unorganized, he's also begun to have rituals before he goes to sleep," tears filled Sharon's eyes.

"I understand that he was diagnosed as a hoarder four years ago?"

"Yes. He- he did go to a regression therapy session for it when he was nine and I am sure it worked. The therapy was a bit of a bust but the day after he cleaned out his locker and threw out all the junk he had in it. At least that's what he told me. But I think it's returning and is worse than ever."

Dr. Bentley nodded. "What makes you think he is hoarding?"

Sharon sighed. "His room is always a mess. He never wants to clean it. Even the mere suggestion of throwing out a ripped up folder freaks him out. He's also begun to… collect useless things."

"What things are these?" Dr. Bentley poised.

"Oh, everything. Rocks, baseball cards, bottles. And just a week ago, he started to collect Sprite cans."

"Hm… apart from baseball cards the others are defiantly defined as invaluable."

"I know. I don't know what to do, my husband thinks I'm overreacting but I just know something is wrong with my Stanley," Sharon sniffed.

"Let's talk about his possibility of having OCD first. You mention he's been doing rituals before he goes to bed? Can you explain to me what those are?"

Sharon sighed. "First, he has to get ready for bed at exactly 10:30. He says it's an even number so getting ready one minute before or after won't 'feel right' because it will be on an odd number. He can spend a good two minutes debating over which two pairs of pajamas he should wear that night before going to the bathroom. There he has to spend exactly two minutes brushing his teeth for the same reason that a minute less or more won't 'feel right' because it will be on an odd number. Just a month ago he began to- to- to count his teeth every night after he brushed them. I asked him why and he told me he had a nightmare last month that he lost all his teeth after some monster-type thing was chasing after him," she sniffed before continuing. "Since then he has to make sure he isn't missing any teeth. After he's done in the bathroom he has to count his stack of magazines on his desk to make sure none are missing. He finally makes sure his kitten Napolzeon is in his room so he can sleep with him."

"And that is his routine?" Dr. Bentley asked.

Sharon nodded. "To an extent. He used to have to sleep with his other cat Basha as well but after seeing how she likes to sleep with everyone in the house, he decided to let it go."

Dr. Bentley was writing something down. "This is defiantly odd behavior in a normal child. How old is he?"

"He's thirteen."

"You tell me he's been counting his teeth for a month. How long have these other rituals gone on for?"

Sharon thought. "I'd say… six months at least."

"Does he have any other routines?"

"Not that I know of. I mean, none that any other boy his age has."

The doctor nodded. "What other behavior does your son show that makes you think he has a form of OCD?"

"He likes when things are in even numbers. If something comes in odds, he doesn't want any part of it. If he gets a scoop of M&Ms let's say, he has to count to make sure he has an even number of the candy in his hand before eating them."

"Does he have an obsession about keeping things clean and sanitary?"

Sharon paused. "Not that I know of. He showers and brushes his teeth any normal length of time expected for a pre-teen. Once in a great while he'll spend over a minute washing his hands but he doesn't usually. As long as his nails are clean that's all he cares about. He says repeated washing makes his skin too rough and it might cause problems when he's pitching a baseball or strumming his guitar."

"All right, anything else?"

"Everything has to be his way. Nobody can unload the dishwasher but him because they put the dishes back 'in the wrong order.' They set the table the 'wrong way'. They stir the cake batter the 'wrong direction'. He spends exactly sixteen minutes in the shower. He- he has a timer he carries with him to make sure he doesn't hit an odd number when he bathes or- or does anything. It's even freaking his friends out," Sharon cried.

Dr. Bentley touched her hand. "It's okay Mrs. Marsh; Stanley isn't the only child with this behavior. We can help him with this."

"I don't know why he's doing it; I don't know how it started. Although… I can remember one time, when he was nine; he did something very odd…"

"Do you feel comfortable explaining to me what that was?" Dr. Bentley poised.

Sharon sniffed but nodded. "It was a normal night, and I was going to begin dinner…"

_Four years ago_…

Sharon poked her head in the living room to see her children watching a show on Animal Planet called Animal Cops Houston. Stan looked truly engaged in it, Shelley however looked positively bored.

"Kids, do either of you want to help with dinner?" she asked.

Stan looked over with a smile on his face. "I do!"

"Good, now I can watch what _I_ want to on TV," Shelley grabbed the remote.

"Hey! It's a good show!"

"You look like you're about to bust a leak, it's not that sad," Shelley had said.

"That horse was _starving_! It could have died!"

"Wash up before you touch anything Stanley," Sharon instructed.

Stan took off his jacket and rolled up his sleeves. He stood in front of the sink and stared at his hands intently as he washed them.

"Something wrong?" Sharon asked.

Stan frowned. "No."

"Well hurry along, you've been washing your hands for almost two minutes now."

Stan shook his head and dried them off before Sharon tied an apron around him.

"Going to be Mommy's helper today?" she smiled.

"Yeah."

"Okay, I'm going to start making the sauce for the manicotti. You get the fun job of mixing together the cheeses."

Sharon looked over as Stan had a difficult time deciding which cheese should go into the bowl first.

"Why don't you just start off with the ricotta?" she finally suggested.

He nodded, almost satisfied someone else made his difficult decision before mixing things together. He looked over to his mother to wait for the next step.

"You get to stuff the noodles with the cheese now. You just get all the fun steps don't you?" Sharon smiled at her son.

Stan smiled, like any kid, glad to be making a mess. One of the reasons why he loved helping his mom with dishes that called for cheese. Stan had grabbed the first manicotti noodle and scooped out the cheese and began to stuff it in. But it wasn't good enough. He had to take it out and do it again. This time enough didn't get in. So he had to do it again. By this time the noodle was beginning to look messy and that bothered him too.

"Damnit, damnit, damnit!" he cried.

"What's wrong sweetheart?" Sharon looked surprised.

"I can't do it Mom! I can't do it!" he sank on the stool he was on.

"Do what? Stuff the noodles? Sweetie, all you have to do is scoop some cheese into it and line them in the dish. It's not hard."

"I know but I can't do it right," Stan looked miserable.

"Well, there isn't really a right or wrong way to do it Stan."

Stan just crossed his arms, defeated.

"Look, I'll do the first one"- Sharon showed him how easy it was. "You're nine honey, I'm sure you are more than capable of stuffing pasta noodles."

Stan was able to stuff the noodles in the end although it was hard to ignore how messy they looked. Sharon had to remind him that once the sauce and remaining cheese was poured on top it would look messy anyway. Stan was satisfied enough with this answer so he lined up the baking sheet with frozen garlic bread and put it in the oven ten minutes before dinner would be ready. Sharon had called Shelley over to help set the table. After Stan was finally finished helping his mom in the kitchen he went into the dining room and gasped.

"What the hell are you doing?" he demanded of his older sister.

"What?" Shelley glared.

"The fork should be on the right side of the knife!"

"_Why_?" she clearly was annoyed.

"Because we're all right-handed! It's easier to pick up the fork if it's on the same side as your dominate hand!"

"Who cares? It's not that hard to pick it up if it's on the other side."

"Yes it is!" Stan went around and rearranged the utensils to their 'correct positions.'

It didn't stop there. He flipped when she placed blue napkins on the table.

"They have to be red! It'll match the color of the manicotti," he told her.

"_What_?" now Shelley was just shocked.

Stan replaced the blue napkins with the red.

"Mom! Stan's not letting me set the table!"

"Stanley, you help in the kitchen, Shelley is doing the dining room," Sharon said.

"But Mom, she was"-

"Now Stanley!"

Stan clearly looked angry and confused as he ate dinner that night.

_Present day…_

"I knew how he acted was odd at the time but I didn't think too much of it. It never happened again, at least not for a long time," Sharon said.

Dr. Bentley nodded. "Can you explain his hoarding? Do you have any idea what might have brought that up?"

"I don't know what to be honest. He's always kept his things neat enough. I mean he's a boy, I never expected perfection when it came to being organized and neat. It's not as if he was ever really 'spoiled'. I can't think of any memory in his life that could have been traumatic for him that might have caused him to… hold onto things. He just likes to. His room has only gotten worse each passing year."

"I cannot safely say what is causing Stanley to keep his things. I do know however that hoarding is a symptom of Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. Maybe there isn't any real reason he is holding onto a pile of rocks beside the fact that his compulsive nature is keeping him from tossing them out."

"Really?" Sharon looked almost grateful.

"I can't answer everything until I see him," Dr. Bentley placed a strand of her dark hair behind her ear.

At this, Sharon bit her lip. She admittedly didn't really think about bringing Stan in. "Do I have to bring him in?"

"Until I see your son Mrs. Marsh I cannot diagnose him with anything. I need to evaluate him personally so that I can get a better understanding of his behavior and routines and get him the proper treatment. What day do you think would be best?" Dr. Bentley had a pen in her hand.

Her son was truly going to hate her now. But it was for the best. Sharon went and made an appointment with Dr. Bentley. Now the difficult part- distributing the news to Stan. Luckily for her, Randy seemed to be supportive and understanding about everything when she came home to tell him. After she explained just what she did and talked about and went over Stan's behavior to him in detail, he seem to finally come to rest that their son was indeed just a bit different than his friends. But it was nothing to how Stan might react when they told him. A week went by and Sharon and Randy went up to their son's room after he got ready for bed. Stan looked a little surprised to see his parents standing there in his room.

"Wow, I can't remember the last time you guys tucked me into bed," Stan smiled, stretching out as if he were five again.

Sharon and Randy gave each other a look. Stan knew this look.

"What now?" he groaned.

Sharon took in a deep breath. "Stanley, sweetie, you- you have a doctor's appointment in two days."

Stan groaned again. "Aw- awww! Why?"

They didn't seem to be able to tell him the answer.

"That's not fair; I just had an appointment three weeks ago _and_ saw my asthma specialist."

"It isn't at the hospital or Dr. Davies' clinic Stan," Randy said.

"Then who? I just had my braces tightened with Dr. Zephyr last week too. Who else is left?"

Sharon sighed and took her son's hand. Stan let go, knowing this wasn't going to be good.

"Just spill it you guys," he said savagely.

"Stan, you have an appointment with a Doctor Bentley," Sharon began.

"Who's Dr. Bentley?"

"She's a special kind of a doctor. She's a child therapist," Sharon expelled the worse then and there.

Stan stood straight. "Whoa, wait- what? Why? Why the fuck do I need to see a therapist?"

"Stan, your mother and I are worried about your actions lately."

"What actions?"

"Your routines before bed. How everything has to be in even numbers. How you carry around a timer everywhere you go. Not to mention your hoarding," Randy looked around the messy room.

"I don't hoard!" Stan screamed.

"No one collects Sprite cans Stan. Collections are usually made up of something that's valuable," Randy pointed out.

"Not all the time. And my cans _are_ worth something, I mean they will be in ten years."

"Not ten versions of the same can," Randy frowned.

"The point is baby, this behavior isn't normal. I know you think you're fine and what you're doing is normal but… it's not. It is something that needs to be looked into. We're just doing this because we love you baby," Sharon put a hand on Stan's cheek.

"But it's nothing. You don't have anything to worry about," Stan exasperated.

"We are worried. But we don't want you to be; it's only an evaluation. You won't have to do anything you won't want to do," Sharon said light-heartedly.

"I don't want to go to the appointment," Stan growled.

Randy chuckled. "That's not one of your options son."

"I don't want to go. I don't _need_ to go. What am I going to say to my friends? I was planning to spend the day at the park playing baseball with everyone."

"You still can, the appointment is at ten o'clock. You'll just be pulled from science class, that's a good thing isn't it?" Sharon smiled.

"Yeah, you don't have to worry about turning in that one report on cells until the day after," Randy said, smiling too.

Stan thought. If it did get him out of that…

"So will you go? For us?" Sharon asked.

"My friends are still going to ask where I was…" Stan mumbled.

"Just give them a half-lie. Say you have a doctor's appointment, just don't specify what kind," Sharon said helpfully.

Randy placed a hand on his shoulder. "Above anything son, you have to address your hoarding problem. It is getting out of hand again. There's no way you can say it isn't happening again."

Stan looked down at his brown tabby kitten Napolzeon who was currently playing with his master's fingers. Stan sighed heavily.

"Fine, I'll go."

"Oh thank-you honey." Sharon kissed him. "You'll be glad you did, I promise you."

Stan hardly thought that could be as he really didn't think any of the things he did was out of the ordinary. Kyle was the one who went all anal when his things were out of place or unorganized yet why wasn't he being called out? Just because his room was ten times cleaner or what? But Stan knew he couldn't do much to get out of it now, so might as well roll with it. He can hate his parents after.

Two days later Stan found himself sitting in the waiting room of a therapist's office with his parents. His arms were crossed, he sat lank in the chair, making annoyed noises the whole while. This was all going to be a waste of time, he knew it. The door opened and a woman with dark hair stepped out with a smile and called him in. Sighing, he got to his feet and followed after his parents. The first question Stan had to ask Dr. Bentley before they even reached a room was-

"Am I going to have to sit on a couch?"

She chuckled. "No Stanley, this is just an evaluation today."

Well, that was one good thing. They reached her office and Stan took up a seat between his parents on the other side of the doctor's desk.

"First off- how are you doing today Stanley?" she asked.

"Okay I guess."

She nodded. "I don't want you to feel alarmed all right? I'm just going to be asking you some questions today, get a feel as to why you might be acting the way you are. I'm not going to examine you or poke and prod you or make you sit on the couch okay?"

Stan nodded mutely.

Dr. Bentley tapped a pen to her lips. "First thing I want to know is, in your own words Stan, can you describe your bedroom for me?"

Stan was taken aback at this question. "I guess… um, it's a nice-sized room. I have a bed, very little walk-in closet, desk where my computer is at… on it is my collection of Sports Illustrated Magazines. I have a nice shelf that holds all of my collections. Um, I usually leave my baseball bat and equipment on the ground as well as my guitar and amp since I use those things all the time so- it's just easier to grab 'em if they're right there than dig around in my closet or the garage for them. That's pretty much it I guess."

"Okay. So you don't feel it is messy in any way?"

"Well, maybe a little, but who's isn't at this age?" Stan shrugged.

Dr. Bentley smiled. "True."

"Not everyone has a messy room Stan. You and your friends always make fun of Kyle since his room is so neat," Randy interrupted.

"Mr. Marsh, I'm having a conversation with your son right now. Could you hold off on your comments until after?" Dr. Bentley advised.

Randy glared and rolled his eyes.

"What do you define as a 'mess' Stan?" the therapist continued.

Stan had to think for a moment on this one. "Stuff lying about? Useless stuff?"

"What to you is 'useless'?"

"Um… damn, I don't really know. I suppose anything can serve a purpose. You never know when you might need a broken chair or an empty box of Kleenex."

"Okay…" she trailed before scribbling something down. She asked a few more questions before getting to another. "Can you explain all about your collections for me Stanley? What are they? When did you start them? Why do you collect these things?"

At this Stan smiled; someone actually seemed interested in his things, unlike his parents who only wanted to toss them out. "The first collection I started was a Batman one. Batman's been my favorite comic book hero since I was in preschool. I always had Batman toys growing up. I guess I never really wanted to let go of any of them since I really love the movies and the whole thing in general. Some toys I had to get rid of growing up, others I kept or found online or something."

"Okay. So in your mind you feel they will appreciate in value over time?" Dr. Bentley asked.

"Well, yeah dude, it's Batman! Who doesn't know who he is?"

"Okay, go on."

Stan rubbed his chin. "I have a baseball card collection. I have… 310 cards last time I counted. No need to explain why I hold onto those. Everyone knows how valuable baseball cards are. But I don't plan on selling any of them; they belong to me and only me. I have a real cool rock collection too. One day, when I was eleven, I found a cool jagged rock that glittered in the sun. I had to keep it. Then I started to think there might be other nice rocks if I just began to look so I did. I now have… 44 rocks."

"Okay. Do you know if any of them are worth something?"

"I never checked. But I don't care, they're just as cool and priceless as my baseball cards," Stan passed off.

He told her about his collection of pens and pencils before going to his bottles.

"Simple: if it's a cool bottle, I keep it. I make sure I wash it first of course. But we've all drunken from bottles before that we just thought- man, this is a cool design. I don't want to throw it out. I own 22 bottles."

Dr. Bentley nodded as she wrote. Meanwhile Sharon and Randy were giving each other looks, clearly not understanding their son's reasons for any of this stuff.

"I own a lot of socks because I love socks. I love how soft they are and how comfortable they are on your feet. I love finding trendy or unique sock patterns. I own one that has little lobsters on it. It's really cool and I know not many people own a pair. I own 24 pairs of socks," Stan explained, grinning happily.

"What do you do if you loose a pair?" asked the doctor.

"Aww man, I freak. I actually did loose a sock a few months ago. I could not find it anywhere in the house and my mom knew she had washed them both. I had to throw out the remaining sock; I can't have just one sock."

Dr. Bentley bit her lip, remembering Sharon explaining how Stan had to have everything in even numbers. Stan told her he had 54 issues of Sports Illustrated Magazine sitting on his desk because he loved sports and had been adding to the pile since he was eight. Lastly, he told her about his new collection of Sprite cans. The woman pushed aside her folder.

"Stanley, do you feel you are holding onto any useless processions? Do you think in any way your hoarding problems may be returning?"

This was the first time in the appointment Stan glared. "No. I know I used to be a hoarder when I was a little kid but I'm not now."

"Okay."

"First thing I did after that bust of a regression therapy was throw out all the stuff in my locker. Any my friends can tell you since that day, it had always been clear of any unnecessary things."

"That is true…" Sharon trailed.

"I don't have a locker in school now. The only lockers in Jr. High are small ones for the gym. The only things in my locker are my PE clothes and a towel. And deodorant. And a mouth guard. Maybe a water bottle," Stan thought. "Shit! I think I left that one gay book I have to read for English in there!"

His parents shared another look.

"But yeah, all those things I need for PE class so…" Stan recovered.

"Stanley, do you know if you or anyone else, including your pets has ever broken anything on accident or injured themselves walking in your room?" Dr. Bentley went on.

"No," he answered immediately. "Well my sister did step on a CD cover once or twice before, cracking it."

"I stepped on a rock plenty of times, do you not remember that?" Randy argued.

"Everyone has tripped over a piece of clothing or your backpack Stan," Sharon told him.

Stan rolled his eyes. "I said I was sorry and moved those things. No one trips over anything now."

"The point is honey, your room is so messy, it's almost dangerous," Sharon explained.

"Can we talk about something else now?" Stan put his face in his hands.

"Of course sweetie," Dr. Bentley said. She looked back at her folder. "Can you explain to me your bedtime routine? In your own words?"

Another odd question but Stan shrugged a shoulder. "I change into pj's and brush my teeth. What else do you expect?"

"Stanley!" Sharon snapped.

"Do you do any of those things in a particular way? Is there anything else you have to do before you're finally in bed?"

"No…"

"Are you sure? You don't count anything or- or anything?" Dr. Bentley said gently.

Stan glared at his mother, no doubt she had been telling this therapist crap. "Whatever my mom said is not true. I only get changed and use the bathroom before going to bed."

"Okay, okay, that's fine," Dr. Bentley said calmly. "What about numbers? Do you have a favorite number?"

"My lucky number is twelve. It's two even numbers put together to make another even number."

"Okay. What about the number eleven? Or the number three? How do you feel about those?"

Stan glared. "They aren't right. I don't like them. They're odd. Every odd number is wrong. One isn't too bad but. Everything after it… just the thought of a number being odd… I don't like it."

"Has that always been the case?"

"I think."

The therapist asked a few more questions before she was finished. She looked at her notes, thinking.

"I have an idea Stan. How about you show me your bedroom, hm?"

"My bedroom? Why?" he asked, alarmed.

"I think I will be able to get an even better view of you if I see your bedroom. How does tomorrow sound?"

Stan had no choice but to agree. The night before his mother tried and failed at getting him to clean the place up. Stan told her why lie about his room to a medical professional? She would know he was lying. Plus he didn't want any of his collections to be disturbed. Sharon opened the door the next day to Dr. Bentley. She asked if she could have a tour of the house to get a good feel for it. Sharon showed her around. Dr. Bentley ran her hand on the table by the couch where four remotes lay.

"I- wouldn't touch them if I were you," Sharon rushed over. "Stan- kind of gets upset if the remotes are mixed up."

"Mixed up?"

"To him- the TV remote has to be the closest to the sofa. Next to that are the DVD and Blu-Ray remotes, and finally the VCR."

Dr. Bentley wrote this down. "What is his reasoning for it?"

"It's in the order of how much each is used."

Dr. Bentley nodded before continuing. For the most part the house was neat and normal without much structure or influence by Stan. Sharon went to the foot of the stairs and called up.

"Stanley? Stanley sweetie, Dr. Bentley is here!"

Stan came down moments later, putting on his poof ball hat over his increasingly messy hair. He was still barefoot and dressed in pajamas.

"Stanley! You told me you'd look nice for our guest," Sharon scolded.

Stan looked at his clothes. "Whoops."

Dr. Bentley came over. "Oh it's fine Mrs. Marsh. I tend to prefer seeing a child in his natural surroundings and what's comfortable with him anyway."

Sharon crossed her arms, still wishing her son had decided to at least put on shoes.

"How are you doing this afternoon Stan?" Dr. Bentley asked.

"Okay. Uh, you?"

"Very well, thank-you." she smiled. "Do you like walking around in pajamas?"

"Yeah. I love wearing them at home, especially if I'm not sick," Stan told her. "And it's a Thursday, so I should be in school," he added with a wink.

Dr. Bentley smiled. "Would you like to show me your room Stan?"

"Um… sure."

He led the way to his mess. Dr. Bentley looked around and made some notes.

"Does your room look like this most of the time?"

"Yeah. I tried to clean it a bit but- got distracted," Stan trailed.

"That's fine." She looked at his tall cabinet. "Oh, so this must be your collections hm?"

"Yeah," Stan grinned coming over. "My rocks, bottles, Batman toys… all here."

"I see. Well it looks very nice sweetie. Oh look at that! You have a Batman toy that came out what? In 2005?" she picked up a small figurine.

"Yeah, that was one of my first toys. I got it in a Whacky Meal at Wendell's Burger's when I was four. I love that thing. I- how do you know when it came out?" he looked at her surprised.

Dr. Bentley smiled. "My brother loves Batman too. Has a pretty nice collection of items himself."

"Really? You never told me! Wow! I'd love to see!" the preteen exclaimed.

"Well maybe you can one day."

Stan smiled before finishing something from his closet. "Look- a rare Batman figure from 1975. Got it last year."

Dr. Bentley took it. "Wow, you should show my brother this. I'm sure he'd love to see it."

Stan felt more and more relaxed around the doctor as she went about his room asking questions about the things inside and showing interest in them. She noticed his stack of Sports Illustrated magazine by his computer.

"Are these the magazines you count before you go to bed each night?" she asked.

"Yeah, I have- I mean, no. I don't count them," he glared.

The woman sighed. "Stanley, your mother told me"-

"Well she's lying. She doesn't know what I do before I go to sleep. I just put on pajamas and use the bathroom like everybody else!" Stan cried.

"Okay, okay. You don't do anything else before you go to bed?"

"_No_."

Dr. Bentley sighed and sat down on his bed. "Stan, I think we need to talk."

Stan stood stiffly before sitting next to her.

"Your mother explained to me you have an interesting routine each night before bed. When do you first get ready for bed?"

"I don't"-

"I'm just asking when you get ready for bed Stan."

He said grumpily, "10:30."

"Exactly?"

"Exactly."

Dr. Bentley nodded. "Do you always know what pajamas you want to wear for the night?"

"Most of the time. Sometimes I just pick whatever I find off the floor. Others are a bit difficult. Like last night, I didn't know if I wanted to wear my red plaid pants with my shirt or green pants."

"What made you decide to wear the green?" she noted his green plaid lounge pants.

"I'm wearing a Mountain Dew shirt that says 'Do the Dew.' Mountain Dew is green, so I had to go with green pants," Stan shrugged.

Dr. Bentley nodded. "How long does it usually take you to brush your teeth?"

"Two minutes."

"You know the exact time for that too?" she asked.

"Yeah. I always time myself. It has to be the same time every time. I don't want to underbrush or overbrush."

"Okay… and does the two minutes include flossing and mouthwash or just teeth brushing?"

At this Stan froze. "I- oh god, I don't know."

"Don't know what dear?"

Stan gripped his old hat. "I spend two minutes on my teeth yeah, but I never count how long it takes to floss them. Oh my god!"

"Sweetie, relax, it's okay," Dr. Bentley tried to sooth.

"No it's not. I have to make sure I spend a good time flossing too. Especially since it's so important now that I have braces. Shit, I have to start timing myself on that too."

Dr. Bentley bit her lip, afraid she had made Stan want to get into another pointless habit. She put her hand on his shoulder. "Stanley sweetie, no, it's fine. You don't have to worry. You don't have to time yourself when you floss. Not even when you brush."

"I do. I already eat things I'm not supposed to; I should at least make sure I floss a good length to make up for it!" Stan cried.

It took a few more minutes to calm Stan down and semi-convince him he did not have to worry about not timing how long it took to floss. Dr. Bentley was able to get information on his other bedtime routines before asking more questions about his home life and habits. She asked if he enjoyed cleaning which he answered no, yet he did mention he did enjoy helping his mom in the kitchen and keeping things 'orderly' around the house. She asked what he liked to do for fun which he answered playing baseball and football, practicing his guitar, and hanging out with friends. She then proceeded with his relationship with his pets. He told her he loved his two cats and one dog very much but he quickly explained to her that he was not an animal hoarder. He knew she was getting to that. An hour passed after before she was finally finished. She met with Sharon and Stan in the living room.

"Well?" Sharon looked nervous as if Dr. Bentley was about to diagnose her son with cancer.

"I got a great look inside your home and your son today Mrs. Marsh so I want to thank you. It was defiantly one of the best appointments I've had in a while," Dr. Bentley smiled.

"So…?" Stan trailed, wanting an answer like his mother.

Dr. Bentley sighed. "You may not like this but, I'm afraid your son is showing signs of Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. One of the symptoms of this is hoarding."

"Oh no," Sharon said softly, putting a hand to her lips.

Stan however looked angry at the news. "No, you're lying! I'm not a- well, I may show some signs of hoarding but only because I was diagnosed before! I'm not doing it anymore! And OCD? What the fuck? That makes it sound as if I'm crazy!"

"Stanley, don't use that language in front of our guest," Sharon reprimanded him.

"No one is saying you're crazy Stan dear. Many children suffer from OCD. It has nothing to do with being mental. You just like to have things in a certain way. In an orderly way. _Your_ way. There's nothing wrong with that."

"If there wasn't there wouldn't be anything to 'diagnose'," Stan said bitterly, arms crossed, sinking into the sofa.

Dr. Bentley sighed. "Unfortunately having things done in a certain order may lead to problems when you get older Stan. you may like to put the remotes in the same order each day but in two years you could be organizing a box of old Christmas wrapper that no one will ever use. Pairs of the same socks. Oreo cookies."

"So you say I have OCD just because I like to put the remotes in the right order?" Stan growled.

"Other symptoms of Obsessive Compulsive Disorder include favorite numbers and fears of others. You seem to have a rather large attachment to even numbers. You seem to fear doing anything with odd ones. You also have routines before you go to bed. You also time yourself doing everyday things. You get highly upset when someone does not do something the way you think it should be done. All classic signs of OCD," Dr. Bentley explained.

Sharon looked at her son sadly as the doctor spoke, rubbing his leg in comfort the whole while.

"This is just stupid…" Stan muttered.

"What I want to know is why," Sharon spoke. "Why now? You told me you threw out that trash you had in your locker when you were nine, Stan. How did you begin hoarding again in only a few short years?"

At this Stan's stomach bubbled with guilt. He relaxed his hold on his arms. "I… have something to tell you Mom. And I don't think you're going to like it."

Sharon waited with anticipation.

Stan drew in a long breath. "The truth is Mom… I never did throw out the trash from my locker all those years ago. I went back for it after throwing it out that same day and kept it all in my closet since then."

Sharon's eyes were wide. "No! No! It can't be true! Tell me it isn't true!"

"I'm sorry Mom. I couldn't tell you because I knew you'd be upset," Stan said looking at his feet. "I knew how happy you were when you thought I was cured from my hoarding so I never told you. That day I cleaned out my locker, I cracked. I couldn't go the whole school day without thinking of my stuff in the trash bin near my locker. I had to go back for it, I _had_ to."

Sharon sniffed. "This whole time… I thought you were cured but this whole time… you've just been hiding it behind my back. You never did get over you hoarding. I should have known something was up when you began to collect your Batman toys. I put too much trust into thinking you had actually changed."

Stan felt burning shame inside his insides now. He felt so guilty. But he knew there really wasn't anything he could tell his mom now, she already voiced the truth. Sharon dabbed at her eyes before turning to Dr. Bentley.

"So what do we do now? Is there anything you can do for my son?"

Dr. Bentley put a strand of hair behind her ear. "I think it is best to tackle his disorders right away. The longer we wait the worse it can get. I would like to well, to put it in his terms, 'put him on the couch.'"

Stan opened his mouth but realized he didn't know if he should argue or not.

"I would like to try and get to the root of the problem and hopefully, this time, we can figure out why he is hoarding once and for all," Dr. Bentley said.

Sharon looked at Stan.

"What do you think Stanley?"

"I- well I dunno…" he shrugged.

"You do know why I would like to do this Stan?" Dr. Bentley placed her hand on his. "We need to know how to help you. I know at the age of thirteen you don't want to be labeled with any conditions or problems or anything but, it's for the best."

Stan sighed. "It's not that I'm worried of. I have moderate asthma, I had to get braces last summer, was once labeled depressed, falsely labeled to have ADD, and several other things. I'm used to it."

Dr. Bentley looked surprised. "Really? I didn't know all of that. But do you understand why I have to do this? You can finally get help dear."

Stan sighed sadly. "It's just that it failed last time. I don't think it's gonna work this time…"

Sharon seemed to be thinking the same thing.

Dr. Bentley smiled. "I promise you I will do my best. I have a very high success rate with the children I work with. We will get to the root as to why you hoard and why you have OCD. And we will get you help for it."

Stan looked up at his mother; it was in her hands now. Sharon nodded. "I think it's for the best. When will be the best time?"

"I can schedule an appointment for next Tuesday if that's okay with you," Dr. Bentley said.

"Tuesday is fine," Sharon said without thinking.

"Tuesday at nine? I will see you then Stan," Dr. Bentley smiled. She thanked the Marshes again for welcoming her in their home before gathering her things and leaving.

Stan looked up at his mother. She got to her feet.

"Why don't I make you some lunch sweetie?" she said before going into the kitchen.

Stan sighed before flipping on the TV. In four days he would have another shot at getting down to the root of his hoarding. He hoped it wouldn't be another misfire. He didn't need to be labeled with yet another problem.

_Since this is long enough already, it will be two chapters. I hope you like it and come back for more! It was easy to write because I do some of the things Stan does as well, so I didn't get stuck throughout. Please don't forget to review, thanks!_

_Lots of love: Rose, November 13, 2010_


	2. Taking a Stand

**TAKING A STAND**

A/N: Sorry for the very long wait. Major writer's block on this like no other. But it is finally complete so enjoy!

The four days leading up to Stan's appointment with Dr. Bentley had him on edge. Part of him wanted his hoarding and OCD dealt with, the other kept telling him he didn't even have a problem and this would all be a waste of time. Of course that Tuesday his friends all wanted to know why he would be taken out of class early. He told everyone he had a doctor's appointment which Cartman scoffed at.

"You use that excuse every time douche," he said.

Stan didn't want to elaborate so left it at that. 8:30 and he had to be taken out of class, which was a good thing since it had just started. He met his mother in the front office before she led him out to the car for the appointment. As with any doctor appointment he had over his life she had to give him a pre-talk how 'everything was going to be all right.'

"Don't worry honey, this won't be like other doctor appointments," Sharon was saying. "You don't have to be afraid that Dr. Bentley will examine you or stick you with any needles. She's just going to talk to you."

Stan slumped in the passenger's seat. "Sometimes talking about stuff can be just as painful as getting stuck by a needle."

Sharon glanced at him for a second. "She's very good at what she does Stanley, I think she'll be able to uncover why you hoard once and for all."

"I keep telling you guys, it's not that big of a deal. I collect more than I 'hoard.'"

"Still… I think she'll really be able to help you. You will be very happy after all this is done, I promise you."

They arrived at Dr. Bentley's office. They waited in the quiet office for a little bit before the door in front of them opened and the psychiatrist stepped out and called him in. Stan got to his feet and looked at his mom.

"You'll be okay baby, I promise," Sharon smiled.

Fearing what might take place once he got in the psychiatrist's room, he slowly walked to the doctor. Dr. Bentley led him to a room and he gasped as he looked around. It was not a normal therapy room, it was much more engaging. Sure there was a couch in the middle with a chair next to it but on a tall shelf were rows of books and games and toys and child-like drawings on the walls and bright, happy curtains over the window. Stan turned to Dr. Bentley.

"I work with kids on a day-to-day basis, I have to make the room as inviting as I can," she smiled and shrugged. "How are you feeling today Stan?"

"Okay," he answered as he carefully sat on the edge of the couch.

"That's good. I want to make sure you feel comfortable around me before we begin. Are you thirsty?"

"Huh?"

"I have drinks in this mini fridge here"- she got up to show him a little fridge on the floor and opened it.

"I'll take a Sprite," he told her. He cracked open the can and took a sip.

"Sprite's your favorite soda isn't it?" Dr. Bentley asked.

"Yeah," Stan smiled. "Technically I'm not supposed to drink soda now that I've got braces but I don't care. I'm almost addicted to it."

For the next five minutes Dr. Bentley didn't do much but allow Stan to get comfortable as he sat on the couch. But that is when she decided to take out her clipboard and begin with generic questions.

"Okay, before I begin trying to unlock your reasons for your OCD and hoarding, I want to get to know a little bit about your relationships with those around you. Is that okay?"

Stan took a long drink from his Sprite. "Yeah, guess so."

Dr. Bentley smiled. "First of all, tell me about your father Stanley."

Stan sighed. "He's a good guy. He does make sure his family comes before anything. But that's only half the time, the other half he can be a selfish uncaring… ass."

Dr. Bentley tried not to look too shocked as she wrote this down. "Do you want to elaborate…?"

Stan shrugged. "He just is. He likes to drink a lot, especially beer. Obviously it causes him to say and do things he wouldn't if he were sober."

"Does your father have a drinker problem?"

"Meh. He likes to do it, he does get drunk. He has been arrested several times before due to drinking. But it hasn't really gotten to the point where he would hurt those he loves or anything. There hasn't ever been a domestic violence call to the house so I guess it could be worse. It's just something I've seen my whole life so I don't really care. I've never really cared if he drank. It was who he was. Sure I wished he went to more baseball games of mine and stuff when I was younger but I try not to let it get to me," Stan said softly.

Dr. Bentley placed a strand of hair behind her ear. She gave the teenager a minute for his thoughts. "Is there anything you want to tell me about him?"

"He's my dad, I love him. But he's an idiot. I don't think there's much to really add."

Dr. Bentley nodded. "Thank-you sweetie. Now, can you tell me something about your mother?"

Stan grinned. "My mom is great. She's done a lot for me over the years, a lot of it really… crazy. I've gotten closer to her as the years went by. She's the one who decided to take an interest in my life and accept me for how I was and try to take care of the things she knew I had a problem with. We both think alike, my mom and I. She's sacrificed a lot to keep myself and my sister happy. My mom has made sure we were always healthy, and when we were sick, run around taking care of us till we were better. I've helped my mom cook, bake, clean, all that stuff my whole life. I guess you can say my mother is kinda like the model mother really…"

Dr. Bentley smiled as she listened to him speak. "That's really great to know. So she is the one who always has your back for anything?"

"Pretty much," Stan looked at his hand. "We share a lot more than we used to. There are some things I haven't done that my friends have because I knew it would get me in trouble and upset her. It makes me feel like a sissy at times but my mom keeps telling me I'll be happier not taking that first sip of alcohol ten years from now. The only downside really is she frets about me a lot. Always wants to know what I'm doing or if I'm okay. I hate having to call her if I'm with the guys because if I don't she'll ground me."

"Is there anything else you would like to add?"

Stan shook his head so she went to ask him about his sister. At this Stan glared and wasted no time going into detail about how horrible she had been. "Sure we get along a little bit better than we did a few years ago but she's still evil. She still picks on me and throws me around. I don't think it matters how old we are or how tall I get she will always look down on me. She's never taken her role as my big sister; she's been throwing me down the stairs since I could walk."

"Oh my," Dr. Bentley covered her mouth. "Has she actually done anything to really hurt you?"

Stan studied his left hand. "She broke my finger when I was seven by shutting her bedroom door on my hand," he said as he wiggled his ring finger.

"_What_?"

"She took a stuffed animal of mine and I chased her around the house for it before she went to her room. I was just about to stop the door with my hand before she slammed it on it."

Dr. Bentley shook her head. "And your parents? How are they with you two fighting?"

Stan slumped in his seat. "They've tried all sorts of things but nothing ever works. Any by now, with her being seventeen going on eighteen, it doesn't matter anymore. She was never the sister to be afraid if I cried 'I'm telling on you!' to her. She would just bop me on the head."

"I'm so sorry to hear that Stanley," the woman frowned. He shrugged, saying he was used to it and again, by this age nothing was really left to be done about it.

After his family she proceeded to ask about his friends. Like his mother, Stan enthusiastically told the doctor all about Kyle and how great he was, ever since they declared each other 'best buddies' in preschool to how they have gone through so many trials and errors in life, much more than the average pre-teen and still had that special bond. Stan also told her about his relationship with Eric Cartman and how they were great friends now, a lot closer than they were years ago. They both shared a passion for cats, baseball, football, and video games, and how fights between Kyle and Cartman spoiled moments at times, especially since those two no longer spoke to each other (Unless they felt it absolutely necessary). There were only twenty minutes remaining in the hour so Stan was asked a little more about himself, prominently if he ever felt upset or depressed about things.

"Yes," he said arms crossed. "I'm depressed all the fucking time."

Dr. Bentley nodded, taking no offence once again as she was used to cursing from other clients. "Can you tell me why that is?"

"This really doesn't have anything to do with hoarding," Stan shook his head.

"I'm hoping to be your primary therapist Stan. I'm not here to simply unravel why you may hoard or have OCD; I want to help you with life's problems. I want you to feel comfortable talking to me about things that bother you," she explained gently.

Stan sighed and rolled his eyes. "I'm a 'drama queen' as my friends say for starters. A 'pussy' they always call me. I'm just an emotional person you know and it's hard when you have so many guys out there ready to give you crap for it. I'm in Jr. High now which can be pretty tough. I mean the school year's over in a couple months but I still hate having six different teachers to report to. Six different classes with idiots in each. I have a hard time keeping up with homework at times, it's like my math teacher doesn't seem to realize I may have to study for a social studies test that falls on the same day as their own test. I hate it. Then my old friends get annoyed when I want to hang with my new friends. What else? My braces. I hate them. I was afraid I'd have to get them for years since both my mom and dad did and my sister. Now I have them and they _suck_," he spat.

Dr. Bentley didn't interrupt him, just wrote what he spoke.

"I can't eat this, I can't drink that. I have a lisp that comes and goes. Life at home isn't any better. My parents are constantly on and off again. Fighting about one thing or another. They love each other one week then won't speak to each other the next. They've been separated twice in my life and I won't be surprised if tomorrow they'll go on their third. We're just used to it you know? My sister and I. Yeah it still makes me sad but what can I do? They both can and can't live with each other. I'm so sick of the arguing but I can't stop it. It's who they are. Which leads to the last thing: I assume you already know I'm taking Prozac?" Stan raised a brow and looked at her critically.

Dr. Bentley nodded calmly. "Yes. How does that make you feel?"

"Like crap of course. I've only been on it for a few weeks and haven't experienced any real change. My doctor said it may take more than four weeks but I want it to work now. How many of my friends or anyone else in my classes is really on antidepressants? It's embarrassing," Stan covered his eyes.

No one spoke for a couple minutes. Dr. Bentley straightened her clipboard. "Is there anything else you would like to tell me before our session wraps up?"

Stan looked back up. "Not really. You know all you really need to about why I am the way I am."

Back in the waiting room Dr. Bentley set up a time when she could see Stan regularly with his mother. The two agreed every Tuesday at 3:30 would work, even if it meant Stan may have to hurry to get to the office at times. Right before Stan left Dr. Bentley put her hand on his shoulder.

"Remember sweetie, I'm here if you need to talk okay? I want us to be friends."

Stan had to grin at this and on the ride home he couldn't help but feel slightly better. Sure it was still a humiliating thought to be seeing a therapist but he had to remind himself she was there to help him sort his many problems, the biggest being his hoarding in where OCD was one of the symptoms he was experiencing from it.

It didn't take long for Stan to spill to beans to Kyle. He told him briefly why he was seeing the therapist and couldn't believe it when his friend didn't point and laugh. Then again being best friends since they were four it was hard to faze the other about anything anymore.

"It's kinda interesting though," Kyle shrugged. "It's the whole idea that yeah, no one would expect you to be going through this. You're a cool talented kid. You come off as the normal average American thirteen-year-old, nothing about you gives off 'mental problems' really. I mean look at Cassie Nelms; she's your classic loser. We already know she has no friends, it's only too obvious she sees someone about that, or needs to see someone."

Stan beamed. "Thanks dude."

As with anything big like this, Stan went to make sure he told as little people as he could. Mainly anyone who wasn't family or Kyle didn't have to know he was in therapy which was almost silly for him to think could last; Cartman already knew he hoarded and had weird OCD moments. But as soon as he knew he was talking to someone as well as was on antidepressants, everyone would find out. And so the week went by and Stan found himself not dreading seeing Dr. Bentley like he was the first few times; he knew she was there to help and he was still in denial almost he hoarded but things would only complicate other things if he didn't go to his appointments.

Dr. Bentley greeted Stan with a smile when he came in the door to her office looking a little disheveled.

"Good afternoon Stan, how are you?"

Stan shook his head. "Sorry I'm a few minutes late. My mom can't drop me off during the day as she both works and has to go to nursing school each day. The bus doesn't come this way so I had my old baby-sitter drop me off since her job isn't too far from here and she has to be there by four." He took a seat on a chair with a content sigh, throwing his backpack on the floor.

"I'm sorry, I wish there was an opening that would work better for you but I am not in on Saturdays. Unless you wouldn't mind talking to a different doctor?" she smiled slightly.

Stan shrugged. "Naw, I don't want to open up again to a whole new person. It's cool; I can bike here if I need to. I'd be able to make it as soon as school's out I think."

Dr. Bentley opened her mini fridge to get him a drink. Stan cracked open his root beer, a blank expression on his face as he was asked how the week had been. He told her how he told his best friend what he was doing but didn't want anyone else knowing. Dr. Bentley then proceeded to ask him how things were at home.

"Same," Stan rolled his eyes. "Dad doesn't like how each session with you is gonna cost $250 so Mom spent a good amount of time yelling at him about me last Tuesday. He thinks there are cheaper ways to get help."

"What do you think about it?"

"Dunno. Sure there might be but like I said, I don't want to talk to anyone else. I already hate that I'm in therapy but I'm here, you're here, so I'm going to roll with it."

Stan told her briefly about Shelley pushing him around and again how Kyle was about it before he looked to a jar on her desk.

"Can I have some?" he nodded to the one filled with M&Ms. She nodded and he scooped some in a paper cup next to it. His nose went right into the cup and he began counting. His eyes went wide when he counted out 15 colored candies. He took one out. "What should I do with it? I don't want to put it back in the jar since it'll be germy since my hand touched it but it'll be a waste if I just throw it away."

Seeing as this was a perfect opportunity to observe his OCD, Dr. Bentley asked, "What would happen if you ate the fifteenth M&M?"

"I couldn't, I need to have an even number in my cup. I wouldn't be able to stop thinking about that one M&M after I was finished. I need to have an even amount."

Dr. Bentley rubbed her chin. "Why don't you just take one more from the jar, then you'll have sixteen?"

Stan shook his head. "Just one? I can't have just _one_ more." In the end he chose three more candies from the jar to make eighteen; it wasn't as bad as one but it still made him nervous. Dr. Bentley reminded him he now had 18 so he didn't need to worry. Dr. Bentley decided to ask Stan to go a bit deeper into his 'fascination 'with even numbers. Stan honestly didn't know why he loved them so, he just did. Things had to be even, in pairs. When something was an odd number that one thing that made it odd ruined the pattern, the feel, it was the 'odd one out' and it made him nervous.

"What do you do with an odd one? I'm sure you don't just throw it out," Dr. Bentley said gently.

"Depends what it is, that's how I decide what I do. If it's candy or food I can just put the extra piece back usually. Or add onto it like I just did. But if it's a lost sock…" tears now burned the preteen's eyes. "I hate that most. I love socks, you saw my collection. When I lose one… depending on what pattern or color it was… well I have thrown out that pair before."

Dr. Bentley was calm in asking follow-up questions about this, seeing how upset it made the boy.

"Do you care to go deeper into this? Just how you feel throwing out a loose sock?"

Stan sniffed. "A couple times I threw out a sock I couldn't find the pair to. Then I would find the pair time after. Knowing I threw it out, a really great sock… I didn't have to throw it out so I had no choice but throw that sock I just found… I hate losing socks but I don't know what to do about it. People lose them all the time in the dryer. It- it freaks me out I might not get it back."

Before he knew it their one hour session was over for the week. Stan couldn't help but feel slightly disappointed he didn't feel any different but his therapist told him they were just scratching the surface and this wasn't something that should be rushed. They would get there in the end. This was just how it went when the next week came by and it was his third time speaking with the doctor. He rushed into her office right after school (this time he biked) and thankfully slumped into the big red comfy chair across from hers and took up the soda offer. Dr. Bentley couldn't help but grin as he made himself comfortable.

"Perhaps next time I stock some other beverages in the fridge. Water bottles or juice. I know you shouldn't be drinking so much of it with braces."

"I'm _trying_ to cut back but having a soda here is kinda something to look forward to, a treat. A 'cheat treat'."

Dr. Bentley shook her head; this boy made her laugh each time she had seen him so far. Which was good, it meant he had enough of a humorous side to him when things were tough. As she did with all her patients she asked him how the last week was. He said it was more or less the same; his parents still arguing over his situation and his dad looking for cheaper options to get him out of his hoarding and or OCD. Then there were arguments between Stan and Randy because he didn't think things were as bad as Sharon said they were. Stan was still in a bit of denial about things too but he did know he had a problem so he didn't want it to be brushed off like his father was doing. He also confessed to his friend Cartman what he was doing which of course went just how he knew it would. A lot of laughter and very little support. He was also tempted to throw out a few things in his room and dumped out a lot of things from the drawers under his bed and he felt so overwhelmed by it, he left it on the floor.

"My mom was pretty upset with me," Stan confessed. "Started yelling that I created more of a mess in my room. I tried telling her I was attempting to clean up but she didn't believe it. She thought it was new stuff or something, I don't know."

"Okay. And have you tried talking to her about it since?"

"No point," Stan sighed. "She says my room looks worse now so I can't change her mind."

"Do _you_ think your room is worse?"

Stan took a long sip from his drink. "Not really. I don't see what the big fuss is. It's stuff that's been in my room for years."

Dr. Bentley nodded. "What do you think your mother thinks then? What made her act that way about it?"

"Pff, she just likes to worry about me, that's all. She spends half her time wondering what I'm doing or how I'm doing. I'm not some handicapped kid; I don't need looking after like that."

"Why does she worry about you so much? Why do you think your room matters so much to her?" she asked softly.

Stan frowned. "She just does. I've always been the one who got in trouble. Was sick. Now she's freaking out that I may hoard and shit. I don't see the reason for it."

Dr. Bentley preceded by asking him how long his mother noticed behaviors she called 'hoarding' or 'OCD.' Stan really didn't know the answer to this; he couldn't remember he freaking out when he was five. It seemed like problems erupted at age nine when he was diagnosed as a hoarder. Since it now had a name she became more aware and worried about why he did things. He always had stuff in his room and had troubles throwing things out. He still didn't want to put that label on him and the thought he may have had a traumatic experience as a young child was almost silly. He'd remember something bad happening to him and that's why it was hard for him to believe he had a problem. With that, the session ended.

Thursday evening. Stan was in his room strumming his guitar; at the same time a notebook was opened with a pen right by, trying out lyrics he had just written. Just then his cell went off. He sighed as he saw it was Kyle. Did he not know he had barely touched his guitar at all this week?

"What dude?"

"Dude, you have to turn your TV to the news right now!" Kyle's voice sounded panicked. Curious, Stan brushed off the trash from Wendell's Burgers on his bedside table to uncover his remote.

Currently a man was standing outside South Park Juvenile Hall, holding onto his earpiece with one hand.

"Okay, I just got word that Trent Boyette is now walking out!" he began running, as were a few others. Cameras flashed as they crowed around someone.

Stan's eyes were wide. "Did- did they just say-?"

"Yeah dude!" Kyle spoke.

Stan's nose was practically touching the TV screen as he listened in to the many reporters surrounding him.

"Trent- Trent- how does it feel to be released from Juvy?"

"Trent- do you still plead your innocence?"

"What are you going to do now that you are free?"

It now cut back to the original reporter. "In an amazing turn of events thirteen-year-old Trent Boyette has been released from Juvenile Hall one year before he was set to be released. Officers at Park County Juvinal Hall say the young teen has reported extremely good conduct _and_ behavior since he was placed back in when he was nine. For those of you who do not know, Trent was sentenced five years in juvy after setting his preschool teacher Miss Claridge on fire back when he was four. He was released after doing his time only to be placed back in shortly after for setting his old teacher on fire again. Also an update, Miss Judy Claridge passed away last year due to complications of her disabilities," the man explained.

Stan licked extremely dry lips as he listened on.

"We unfortunately do not have all the information at the moment as to why Park County decided to release Trent Boyette early other than being a model citizen. Wait- Trent- Trent!" the man hurried over to the boy as he was just about to walk down a street and only then could Stan finally get a good look at him: his hair was wilder and he had another few tattoos. His face looked about the same but he had defiantly gained muscle since age nine, not to mention he was taller as well. The reporter put his microphone under his nose. "Trent- is there anything at _all_ you want to say to finally being released?"

Trent gave the camera a hard look. "I'm out, and this time you _will_ pay." With that he turned the corner and was out of site.

The reporter faced the camera with a smile. "Did you hear that? What interesting words indeed! We will be following this story as it develops. Until then, I will take you back to the studio to Smitty Rogers for the sports- Smitty?"

Like a scene from a scary movie, Stan backed away from his television with a look of permanent shock on his face, his feet loosing traction on the various items on his floor. His backside found his bed and he sat on it. He shook his head before placing his hands over his eyes.

"No. _No_. This can't be happening. This can't fucking be happening."

The thirteen-year-old hardly said or did a thing that night at dinner. Of course his quiet state did not go unnoticed by his mother but she couldn't get anything out of him. When asked what was wrong he just said 'nothing'. But again, little things did not go by Sharon's watchful eye that he wished they would. She noticed how he picked out all the peas in his chicken pot pie and lined them on a napkin, obviously placing them in a certain order.

"Thirteen. Oh my god Mom how could you?" he screamed.

"Stanley calm down, what are you talking about?"

"You gave me thirteen peas in my chicken pie. Oh god," he moaned and covered his eyes.

"Stanley you are behaving ridiculous," Randy stepped in. "Your mother didn't waste her time counting out how many of anything she put in your dish. Why? Because no one does that. You have thirteen peas- so what? She doesn't want to do everything in even numbers for you just because you want it. You have to get over this silly 'even numbers' thing, got that?"

Sharon glared at her husband knowing this was not the way to deal with the matter and he still didn't fully understand OCD. Stan decided to squish the single 'bad pea' of the 13 before nibbling at the rest of his dish. He then finished off his can of Sprite before rinsing it out in the sink and adding it to his collection of other Sprite cans and bottles.

"Oh- oh Stanley, please don't tell me you're keeping it, you hadn't kept any soda cans all last week," Sharon had to get to her feet when he went in the direction of the basement.

He said nothing, just gave her a fearful look and took his pile in hand and went to his room. Once there he went into panic mode and began digging in his trash, afraid he had thrown in something that he wanted to keep. That pen that ran out of ink, that candy wrapper, that one rock looked kind of cool…

It didn't take long for word to spread amongst the five boys about Trent Boyette's early release. That next day was a Friday and Kyle had begged his mother to pick up all his friends and drop them off at school that day. Sheila really didn't want to since he always took the bus but she finally gave in although curious why he wanted her to pick up Cartman as well.

"I thought you two hardly talk anymore," she reminded him as she got the car keys.

"Well he lives really close to Stan and well, just to save time for him to go to school…" Kyle shrugged. But unfortunately he had to look out for Cartman's ass too; they were all responsible for landing Trent in juvy twice now and if something happened to them that was one man less who was able to keep their secret with them. School that morning was very nerve-wracking; the boys were on constant look-out for their long-time bully, the kid who swore revenge and had yet to get it since preschool. Perhaps no one was as nervous as Butters that day.

"Just hide at one of our houses, our parents won't care," Stan was saying.

"I _can't_ you guys, I'm not supposed to go over anyone's house for a month." Butters gulped. "I knew I shouldn't have stood up for- for myself over dinner that one night."

"Well there comes a time you have to realize you need to stand up for yourself," Kyle said forcefully. "And sometimes it's worth being grounded for."

"But now Butters has to stay home and he'll be a sitting duck for Trent!" Stan argued. "Sure your dad shouldn't have told you to 'man up' but now you kind of are screwed dude."

As bad as they felt for Butters they couldn't do much to divert Trent from his house, not like they knew he was in the area or not. But since Butters was always such an easy target in general maybe he had already chosen him as his first victim. And so the after-hours at school was one big nervous wait. The boys (minus Butters) hung around Kyle's house not doing anything for all they could do was think about Trent Boyette.

"I mean what did he actually do to be released a year early?" Kyle asked.

"Really, it was only a year left, why didn't they just keep the butthole in there?" Cartman grunted.

Stan took off his hat and ran his hands in his wild black hair. "You guys know it wouldn't have made a difference right? Him being released early? Even if he was released next year his top priority would be to hunt us down and beat our asses for what we did."

They knew their friend had a point but didn't bother to tell him so. They all jumped suddenly when the phone rang. Kyle went to answer it. He sounded rushed to the person he was talking to and hung up not a minute later.

"Guys- that was Butters. He's going to come over here to wait it out with us. He said he doesn't care about extra grounding time, he doesn't feel safe being home alone," the Jew explained.

Glad he had the courage to say 'F you' to his parents' rules, the boys waited by the front door for the moment they saw the blond boy rush in. But it never came. It took only five minutes to get to Kyle's house from Butters' but it was now almost twenty.

"Shit guys, this is taking too long," Stan noted.

One minute later the boys decided they had to go and try to meet up with Butters; it was taking way too long for him to show up and the only way to guarantee they could help him if he was caught by Trent was to stand in the line of fire as well. They looked left and right the path to Butters' house but did not find him.

"I have a bad feeling guys," Kyle spoke as they got to his street.

"Shut it dude, we haven't seen him yet," Stan said trying to reassure him it was okay, although his voice shook as he spoke.

They were very hesitant as they walked all around the street looking for him. Trent could be ready to pop out at any moment but the longer they spent looking the worse they felt something had indeed happened. So they began calling out for Butters. He only lived minutes away from Kyle, he couldn't be far.

"Butters?"

"Butters!"

"Butters? Where are you?"

"Wait guys! Shh!" Kyle suddenly said. He frowned. The others heard it too, rustling by a bush. They went over to it. Kyle leaned over and gasped. "Butters!"

"Oh shit dude!" Stan saw it too. Behind the bush lying on some grass was Butters and no doubt he had been the first victim. Again. One eye was swollen shut and blood was draining from his nose. It looked broken. They didn't know the extent of his injuries however for he still had on his shirt and pants. "Butters, what happened?" Stan got to his knees.

"I- hurt," the blond boy struggled. "He… he got me."

"Where are you hurting? Your back? Neck?" Kyle asked as he kneeled by his head.

"Ev-everywhere. Please- please help fellas…"

With shaky hands Stan took out his cheap cellphone and dialed 911. When the paramedics arrived the boys told them their friend had been attacked by a bully. When asked where the bully was they said he probably had long since fled. Before dinner that evening their parents had taken the boys to Hell's Pass Hospital to see their friend who was currently in a recovery room. When they stepped into Butters' room he was asleep and wrapped in bandages and hooked up to machines and a few IV drips.

"What happened?" Kyle asked the doctor who was tending to him.

The doctor- Dr. Millers sighed. "He's pretty beat up boys but you have every right to know what happened. Leopold suffered a broken nose, one broken rib, two broken fingers, severe bruising of the left side of his face, not to mention various other bruising and scrapes along the body. A particular bad road rash on the side. We are concerned about his inner organs as well. He stated he was repeatedly hit in the stomach region so we need to monitor him for a while."

"Oh shit man," Cartman shook his head.

"According to him the bully would have done more but a car was coming down the street so he flung him in the bush and fled. He didn't tell me who did this though, he told us the bully would find out and hunt him down again. Do you boys know who may have done this to Leopold?" the doctor asked.

Stan, Kyle, Cartman, and Kenny all shared a look. The obvious thing would say who had done this but they didn't want to risk Trent finding out and coming after Butters again. Better tell all when the time was right.

"We- we don't," Kyle said.

The weekend was a quiet affair with no run-in of Trent. But unfortunately Sunday could have gone a little better. It was Mother's Day but Stan's mental state interfered with the celebration. He flipped when his parents went to throw out the wrapping paper and ribbons from Sharon's gifts and was very nervous at the thought of going out to dinner that night. Sharon was a little worried about how her son was acting but thought he was probably just worried about what had happened to Butters and left it at that.

Monday came with much worry. Once again the boys had Sheila drop them off at school and drop them off home. Stan turned his head left and right the whole walk up to his front door before rushing in- to find his mother home too.

"What are you doing home? Don't you have work?" Stan asked.

"Do you not remember? Today Dr. Bentley and an organizer are coming over to see if they can help you out with your room," Sharon explained.

Stan frowned as he tried to remember- and then it came to him, his therapist setting it up last week. She said she felt he was ready just to do something small and if he couldn't it would be okay too. Stan had a feeling it would be pointless and he didn't want to waste anyone's time. But then again if these people were here for a while it meant Trent probably wouldn't seek him out. By four his therapist and an organizer showed up.

"Do you mind showing us your bedroom?" Dr. Bentley asked.

"I- well I guess so," Stan shrugged. He really didn't want to, he had been feeling a little more protective of his things the past week but he led them upstairs anyway. "Um, I just came back from school so uh, there's still my school stuff around…" he said before popping open the door. Dr. Bentley looked a little worried as she (carefully) stepped inside. The room looked to be worse than we she came in a couple months ago. The floor was littered with clothing, CDs, movies, video games, books, his backpack, cat toys, and what appeared to be some trash.

"Stanley, why is this here?" Dr. Bentley pointed out a plastic bag filled with Sprite bottles and cans.

"My Sprite collection," he said fairly.

"I thought you kept that in the basement though."

Stan shrugged. "Wanted to keep it in here now in case my mom threw them out."

Dr. Bentley picked up scraps of ribbon.

"They looked too nice to be thrown out yesterday from Mother's Day. My cats really like them so it's their new toys," Stan said with a slight smile.

Twenty minutes into it, it was evident this first tackle of clearing out his room would not happen. He was protective of everything and didn't seem interested at all about organizing any of it. He said everything was fine where it was and he didn't need help. Sharon was clearly upset when she saw that there had been no change. Dr. Bentley told her it was only the first attempt and not to give up yet. Yet when the workers left Sharon had a few words for her son.

"Stanley, do you really want to get help?"

He had plopped on the sofa about to turn on the TV. "What?"

"Do you really want help? Because I'm starting to get the vibe that you don't."

"What? That's stupid, ya I want help."

"Then why did Dr. Bentley and the organizer Anna have to leave without doing anything just now?"

Stan turned his face from his mother now. Sharon sat next to him causing him to sigh deeply and slump into his seat. He so didn't need any lectures right now!

"You seem to be collecting far more than you used to lately. Is something wrong?"

"I'm fine Mom," the boy mumbled.

"Is it what happened to Butters? I know it is very scary what happened to him. And none of you know who may have attacked him," Sharon said concerned.

"It's just life okay? I just want to be left alone and deal with it myself."

"You now have pieces of trash in your room Stan, why do you"-

"God! Stop asking me questions!" Stan cried and marched off to his room and slammed his door.

Tuesday meant sessions with Dr. Bentley but unfortunately it was not the best of times for Stan that week. She seemed to notice how off he looked and almost looked on-edge. She asked him lightly if anything was bothering him at home, school, or anywhere else. Stan sat there on the chair arms crossed and looked down. He wanted to tell her about Trent. Wanted her to know about him so she would know just what amount of worry he was under. What it felt like to constantly watch your back wherever you went and simply feeling trapped.

"You told me you've been too busy lately to do things outside. Do you want to elaborate on that?" Dr. Bentley asked.

"I've just been busy. I don't have time to go outside anymore to ride my bike or play sports. There's just no time…" he mumbled the last part.

_Just tell her about him! That way she may even be able to help you get rid of him!_ His brain screamed. But just like when he was nine he couldn't face the problem, he had to run from it, and from someone he trusted could help if he asked for it.

The following days leading up to Friday were terrible. Apparently Trent Boyette came knocking Wednesday according to Randy but that day the boys were hiding out at Cartman's. And minutes after he came knocking there as well but Cartman was prepared for this and told his mother to not tell anyone with the name of Trent where they were. They were hiding out in the basement and thankfully Liane Cartman was dim enough to listen to her son and they escaped his fist that day. But it hardly mattered; Stan's parents would not stop bugging him about why he had been eating less, seemed on edge all the time, and of course, collecting more items in his room.

Friday Stan stood on edge by the front of South Park Jr. High waiting for Shelley to pick him up from school. His friends had other ways of getting home so Stan had to rely on his older sister which was really asking for a lot, she never took him anywhere. Stan checked his watched before digging his hands in his pants pockets, jiggling a leg.

"_C'mon_ Shelley… hurry up…" he muttered. He really was a sitting duck out here and at any moment Trent could stop by and he'd be in as terrible of shape as Butters. Finally his sister's 2006 Toyota pulled up and he closed the door behind him faster than he could blink. "Step on it!" he ordered as he buckled his seatbelt.

Shelley raised a brow but listened to him and drove off to the familiar path home. She glanced at him as he took off his poof ball hat and ruffled his hair before putting it back on.

"Trying to avoid something?" she asked.

"Huh? No, just hurry home."

"You look like a nervous wreck. Last time I saw you sweat like this was when you first had to have your braces tightened," Shelley smirked.

Stan glared. "I'm not trying to avoid anything okay bitch?"

The light was red now so she glanced at her hand. "You know I could just turn back and drop you off at school again."

"No!" he cried.

All was quiet the rest of the ride home but as soon as they walked in Shelley pushed her little brother against the wall, his feet dangled.

"Okay, cut the crap Stan, why are you really ready to shit your pants?"

"Let me go! Let me go Shelley!" Stan struggled against her grip but of course he would not win.

"I'm only going to let you down if you answer me this one question: does this have anything to do with say... Trent Boyette?" Shelley ventured.

Stan gulped for a second before saying 'no' although not in the best confident tone. And so Shelley held Stan up with one arm, hand on his chest.

"I have all day really," she told him.

Stan grunted. "Please- please let me down- my chest- I can't breathe"-

Shelley did not let up. A minute had passed before Stan couldn't go on any longer.

"Okay- okay- yes it has to do with him! Let me down!"

With a smirk still on her lips Shelley let Stan fall to the floor but as soon as he tried taking off she grabbed his jacket.

"I answered your fucking question now let me go!"

"Of course I knew you saw the news, Trent was released a week ago. No wonder you're scared shitless, he still wants to kick your ass as well as your friends' huh?"

Stan wasn't struggling as much any longer. He looked up at her dark eyes.

"He's going to kill us Shelley. You heard what he did to Butters. And it isn't like it was before; he isn't going to just give us wedgies or titty twisters. He _beat_ Butters, hit and kicked the shit out of him. He's thirteen now and has been in juvy twice, he's not playing around anymore," his voice shook.

Shelley let go of him but he didn't take off. "He has every right to kick your ass turd. You've lied twice now about what really happened. You've had what-? _Nine_ years to tell the truth? Give it up and just get what you deserve already. Miss Claridge is dead and the chances he'd end up back in juvy are low. The only reason he'd go back is for beating up five other kids. But he will find you soon enough Stan; you can't hide around much longer."

"I'm not hiding! I'm just not ready to face him yet," he looked at his shoes.

Shelley cackled. "Stan Marsh, always the one to run from his problems."

"Shut-up!"

"Could never tell anyone the truth ever since you were little. Were too afraid of getting in trouble for spilling the juice. For stealing a pack of gum. For hopping on some guy's boat and flooding Beaverton. Lying and running away, that's what you do best," Shelley listed off.

Stan was fuming but he couldn't reply back. Her words hit hard and he didn't want to believe her but he knew she was right. He was a terrible liar but that never stopped him from lying to anyone. He was a kid who simply did not want to be grounded no matter how awful something made him feel. He looked down. "I don't know what to do. I know I can't run forever but, well, let's be honest- I don't want him to kick my ass either."

Shelley crossed her arms. "He will eventually, just think of that. Just get it over with Stan, it _will_ happen. And you better step up and be a man about it soon. If you don't I _will_ tell him where you are. Hiding around like a scared cat is only making you that- a pussy. The little sissy you already are. So I'd do the honorable thing. The sooner you deal with Trent the sooner you can deal with your other 'problems'."

With that she went upstairs to her room leaving him standing there, contemplating what to do. Once again he was called a pussy; he wanted to prove to everyone he wasn't but no way was he ready to face Trent. But his sister had a point as much as he hated thinking about it; he would be found eventually and he would end up a bloody mess too. Running to Mommy and Daddy or any other adult wouldn't help. He had to step up and face his problem head on.

Saturday afternoon. Stan was sitting in his bedroom thinking what his sister had said. He had been doing that since she told him those words almost 24 hours ago. What should he do? The right thing for everyone if he could. But exactly what that thing was was pretty hard to determine. He turned to his side on his bed and sighed; so many things lined his floor and walls. Shelley was right; he had to take care of Trent so he could take care of everything else. The bully from preschool had put his treatment of OCD and hoarding at a standstill. The right thing... he knew what it was but it made him fearful. But he had to do it; he couldn't run from his problems any longer, it was time to face them. Not only Trent but life in general. Time to stop running from the fact he did have mental problems and did do things differently than his friends. His room was proof. His daily life structure was proof. Collecting every bottle of Sprite he drank from, counting his teeth each time he brushed them, the need to have things in even amounts…

"Oh, what's wrong with me?" Stan moaned as he sank down into his bed and covered his face with his eyes. He had to stand up for what he was responsible for but it made him scared. But it was time; he had to do it now. Stan hopped off his bed and put his shoes on his feet. He knew what he had to do as much as he hated it. And it was the start, the beginning, of facing his problems one by one. And until he faced this one, nothing else would be dealt with. He told his parents briefly he'd be taking a bike ride down for some frozen yogurt. Sharon and Randy looked surprised but happy at the news their son wanted to go out for once and simply said to be back for dinner. Stan had one foot on a pedal, one on the ground for a few minutes before he took a deep breath and took off.

He was pretty sure he knew where he was going although he had never been there. This was all from memory, memories back from preschool. He knew it was on West Martin Street, the street just above South Park Elementary, and if he could recall it was a yellow house. Stan constantly turned his head left and right and had his eyes wide the entire ride there just in case he met up with Trent Boyette prematurely. He turned the corner into West Martin St. and took a moment to stop and catch his bearings. The houses here were a little smaller than the ones he lived in or Kyle and Cartman but they still looked nice enough. A few one-level homes were strewn about as were a few yellow homes. Gulping, Stan got off his bike and began walking with it. He had to go with his gut, the house that looked to be Trent's. He then spotted a small yellow two-story with a tire in the front yard and a wooden fence that looked to have been kicked in. And he knew this was the one.

Bravely Stan walked up with his bike to the front door and knocked. It opened to reveal a thin woman with long blonde hair and wearing a bathrobe over herself. She smelled of cigarettes and alcohol.

"Yes? What do you want?" she looked down at Stan.

"Um, does-does Trent Boyette live here?"

"Yeah, why?"

"Is he here now?"

"No, had business to take care of," the woman didn't seem too bothered by this. "Who are you anyway?"

Stan sighed. "Listen, could you give him a message from me please? Tell him to meet Stan Marsh at Little Lake Park at let's see…. 5 PM next Tuesday? The 20th?"

The woman raised her eyebrow. "Why?"

"Just tell him please? It's important. Thank-you."

Feeling proud he was able to do just this Stan did indeed reward himself with some frozen yogurt. As he sat inside Blueberries Frozen Yogurt Shop, vanilla yogurt topped with cookie dough bites and Oreo cookie pieces in hand, he hopped he hadn't just made a big mistake.

Monday the boys were at Kyle's as their safe haven for the day. Stan had just told him his plans with Trent Boyette.

"You're doing _what_?" Kyle's eyes bulged.

"Are you fucking crazy?" Kenny said.

"Look at what he did to Butters! And it could have been worse if he hadn't been close to being spotted! Imagine what he'd do to you," Cartman said.

"I know it's pretty risky," Stan tried explaining but Kyle scoffed at this.

"You think? Dude, you're stepping into the line of fire right here. We're talking of how you are going to willingly let him kick your ass. It's stupid and dangerous," Kyle elaborated.

Stan glared. "Look, I realized I can't just sit around waiting for him to get me. To get any of us. Now I don't know about you guys but I want to stand up for something I'm responsible for. This isn't going to go away; he's not going back to Juvy, at least not now. He's out for revenge and has every right. We put all the blame for what happened to Miss Claridge on him. Sure he was a bully to us when we were four but he didn't need to go to Juvy. Thinking of Trent is stressing me out and it's making my parents worried. I need to just buck up and let him get me so I can deal with my other problems. There really isn't any other way."

His friends looked around at each other. Cartman rubbed his neck and looked down.

"This isn't fair to us you know," Kyle said quietly. "What if after he's done with you he'll go after us?"

Stan's face was blank of emotion as he got to his feet. "That's not up to me to figure out. I'm letting him take his revenge on me. Who knows, maybe after getting Butters twice and me once, he won't want to go after you guys. Maybe he will in that case, run for it or let him get you. But I already told you he isn't leaving and sooner or later our parents are really going to suspect something's up. But Kyle, I want you to record the whole thing, got that? I will need it to motivate me in the near future to face other scary situations."

Kyle just sighed and gave a stiff nod.

"Are you scared for tomorrow?" Kenny asked.

"Yeah but I gotta do this."

"What if he doesn't show?" Cartman asked. There was no doubt he was wishing this would happen.

"Then I'll just have to have him get me on his own. Stop having others usher me around and shit."

"Why tomorrow? You already have your therapy right after school. This would be too much to deal with in one day man," Kyle said.

Stan didn't know why he chose tomorrow actually, it was just the day he chose. Perhaps Dr. Bentley could be of some help if he hinted at her what he may be up against but if he told her he was getting ready for a fight, she'd try to stop it.

May 20th. Stan had a hard time concentrating in any class since his mind was only focused on his meeting at the park later. Word had spread quickly in the school and he had been stopped by many students asking if he really was going to fight Trent Boyette. The majority of the kids knew who he was even if they didn't have preschool with him. Stan had to correct them in saying he wasn't going to fight him, he was simply going to let Trent hit him. Stan had hardly been in any fights in his school-life; a few scuffles here and there but not an actual fight. And of course it would be so tempting to defend himself after the first blow was struck but that wasn't the point of today- the point was to show everyone he was standing up for what he did wrong even if it meant he'd be knocked down to the floor. To defend himself would mean he didn't feel he deserved the pain. But he did. He may have hated Trent but he did not deserve to be in Juvy all these years. Soon it would be over and hopefully, he'd be satisfied with hurting him he wouldn't go after Kyle, Cartman, or Kenny.

Stan had Shelley take him to his therapy as soon as school ended. Thankfully the high school was close to the Jr. High so he didn't have to wait long for her to show up. He had also asked for her to drop him off at Little Lake Park after although did not tell her why. Shelley had parked in front of the large medical building that served different practices on every level. Stan turned to his sister.

"Well, see you in an hour turd. Have fun, as usual."

"Yeah… thanks Shelley."

As it was to be expected Dr. Bentley noticed Stan was very tense minutes into his session. He was gripping his can of Mountain Dew but hardly took a sip. Time to confess without really confessing.

"Something big's going to happen after this appointment," Stan said heavily.

The older woman nodded. "Looking at your expression it's not something you are looking forward to."

"No. But it has to be done." He frowned. "Do you think it's a good idea to even things out with someone you've hated your whole life?"

Dr. Bentley looked surprised. "What do you mean by that Stanley?"

"See, there's this kid who hates me. I hate him too actually. Well I want him to know I'm sorry about the past and shit but I don't know if it's a good thing now. I'm meeting him after this and not sure how he's going to react."

Dr. Bentley brought her pen to her lips. "Do you know how he feels about meeting you? Do you feel he may forgive you after you meet today?"

Stan bit his lip. _Forgive? Hardly but he would have his revenge_. He shrugged. "Maybe. Anything can happen really."

Dr. Bentley raised a brow. "You aren't thinking of fighting this kid are you?"

"No, I'm not fighting anyone. Promise," he said honestly. "See, I'm bringing this up 'cause me wanting to even things out with this kid is making me reflect myself. I'm tired of running from my problems. I know I have them. I know I- I hoard. And _may_ be a bit OCD..." he mumbled.

Dr. Bentley smiled. "Wow, you admitting this is huge Stan. I'm very happy to hear this."

"Yeah. I think I may be ready to talk about that more next time. But this one thing I have to do first, I have to do. It's going to eat up my mind if I don't take care of it. It's caused me to stop doing things I used to the past couple weeks and I know it's causing my mom to worry."

4:30 and his session was up. Stan was feeling more confident to tackle his future problems now, he just had to deal with this one thing first. Shelley turned up as expected to take him to the park. As soon as they got out of the driveway she forced him to speak up.

"Why do you want me to take you to the park anyway, turd?"

"I just have to do something there," Stan looked uncomfortable.

"You remember what I told you days ago right? Trent's going to find you sooner or later. Mom and Dad are going to find out sooner or later," she added.

Five minutes they were there.

Stan sighed. "Look, I'm taking care of it. I just have to do something today. Thanks for the advice last week. It's time for me to deal with it myself… if you don't hear back from me by dinner, then you can tell Mom and Dad where you last saw me. Which was here. I have something I need to do…" with a look of dread, Stan stepped out of the car and walked to the entrance of the park.

There were many kids there already, obviously ready to watch a good fight. Kyle was there as was Cartman surprisingly.

"No sign of him yet?" Stan asked quietly.

"No. But um, I'm ready to, you know…" Kyle held up his iphone, ready to record.

Stan looked around. "Kenny not here?"

"Naw, was hit by a truck and died. Lucky bastard…" Cartman growled.

Stan stood there in the basketball court, the best place really to get what was coming to him. Kyle placed a hand on his shoulder.

"You don't have to do this dude," he said.

"Yes I do! I can't run from my problems Kyle! This isn't going to go away so I have to face it now while I can," Stan argued.

Suddenly there was a collective gasp- Trent Boyette made his way to the basketball court. Kyle went to run off as far as he could while still getting a good shot. Stan stood his ground, hands in fists.

"So, got word you'd be here Marsh," he said, fist clenched.

"I'm not going to run anymore Trent. Do what you want to me; it's time you get your revenge and time everyone found out the truth." Stan's voice was relatively calm.

"What about the rest of your little group? Too cowardly to face me themselves?"

"You can beat me and after, find them if you must. But this isn't about them. It was my idea; I wanted us to play firemen all those years ago in preschool. Go on and take it out on me, I'm ready."

Trent didn't do anything for a minute. "I spent the majority of my life behind bars. It was pure luck they let me go early. I've been dreaming of this day," he said, voice even rougher than it was when they were nine.

"And here it is. I'm not going to hit back, that means I'm not accepting what I'm responsible for. So just do it. Just- don't kill me," Stan had to add.

Trent glared and the next thing Stan saw was a fist flying at his face. WHAM! Right into his nose. He staggered a bit before that same fist hit his nose again and he heard a crack- he was sure it broke. Kids all around were gasping now as Stan tried to get his bearings right as he held a hand under his nose to catch the falling blood. Trent hit his face again before grabbing him by his jacket and throwing him on the hard concrete. The blond boy began throwing random punches and kicks all over his body. As Stan laid there in a fetal position to protect his organs and groin, he wondered if all this pain would be worth it. How could he feel better after this?

Trent lifted Stan- one hand gripping his jacket, the other his pants- and BANG! rammed him into a metal pole. Shit that hurt like a bitch. Again the side of his face hit the pole and he flung him on the concrete yet again. Stan spat out a mouthful of blood as well as a tooth.

"Aww _fuck_," he managed to say. At that point Trent brought him up to his face.

"You know, I could go on for hours doing this," he whispered so only he could hear.

Stan looked through hazy vision; he hadn't thought of how long this would last. And now it was too late to make any deals. Trent managed to pull the jacket he was wearing off, ripping him of that extra layer of cushion to his blows. He then kicked him hard in the gut causing Stan to shoot down and begin to heave. More blows to his already bleeding body. He was on his side now wondering how much more he could take. Shelley had never done this much damage to him in all his thirteen years. Pain then shot all over his arm and up to his neck- Trent had stomped on his arm with his army boots. Ten minutes later Trent flung Stan over yet again- this time onto the grass. He was puffing slightly now and looked around. He saw Eric Cartman in the crowd and hit him in the face, then over to Kyle Broflovski who was filming and rammed him in the stomach. And that was it. He was spent.

"Fuck this, I'm done. I'm done with this shit." And without looking back, Trent walked out of the park and out of sight.

Everyone began to crowd around Stan but Kyle managed to shoo them away as he clutched his stomach.

"Let him breathe! Go on, move!"

"That fucker broke my dose!" Cartman's eyes were wide as blood dripped from his face but no one heard him. "You guuuyysss, look!"

Kyle bent down to Stan who was on his side heaving.

"Dude, should we call an ambulance?"

"He looks pretty beat up," Clyde noted. "But wow dude, you took a beating from Trent. You rock."

Stan gritted his teeth. "S-sit me up. P-please." Clyde had Kyle lean Stan on him.

"Stan…?"

"A-ambulance. Can't-breathe. P-please."

Sharon couldn't remember ever being angry at her son whenever he wound himself in the hospital. What a silly thought, her child was in pain, she had to worry! But after hearing the full story from Kyle in the waiting room, she was sure she was angry. Worried since he suffered an asthma attack after the fight and broke two ribs and a broken nose, so breathing would be difficult for him for a while. But furious at everything else!

"Mr. And Mrs. Marsh, Stan's latest x-rays have come back," spoke the doctor who was attending to him. The parents went back to where their son was. He was in a semi-upright position, eyes droopy. A brace was over his broken nose and a few IV bags were hooked up via his left hand. He had no shirt on and you could see all the bruises and cuts marked on the pale skin. He drew in a shuddered breath from the mask over his mouth pumping oxygen into his lungs.

Dr. Anders placed a few films on the light box. They were of Stan's right arm. He pointed at the first x-ray.

"Stanley here just managed to sustain a small minute fracture to his radius. It's a small break but will need to be in a cast to prevent any further damage."

"Oh god, another thing to add to the list," Randy shook his head in defeat.

"You realize what you did was stupid, right? Really stupid!" Sharon glared at her son.

Stan shuddered. "Had to Mom."

"You allowed someone to beat you up and land you in the hospital and you don't seem upset at all!"

"I'll explain- later. When I- breathe bet-better."

When Stan was having his right arm wrapped in a soft cast, Kyle came over to see how he was doing.

"Cartman went home not long ago. Thinks breaking his nose was too much to handle to visit you, the one who really took a beating," he rolled his eyes.

"Lame."

"And I just got a call from Clyde- they couldn't find your tooth at the park dude. Sorry."

Stan frowned. "Damnit. Screwed- now." An emergency room dentist had been brought it to take a look at the tooth that was knocked out. Since his real one now could not be found it looked like a trip to his dentist for a fake tooth was in order when he was released from the hospital. And since the tooth was gone it meant his braces on the bottom would have to be re-wired. But it was worth it even if his parents couldn't see it.

Stan was released from the hospital one and a half days later after he was finally able to breathe without aid. He was sent home with a couple pain medications as well as a temporary new inhaler to help with his breathing which would no doubt be very labored for a while due to his broken nose and ribs. When he did get home Randy did not stop going on about how much money they were spending on him now.

"Hospital bills, future dental and orthodontic work, therapy, _and_ your drugs, where does it end?" he said wildly.

May 27th was another session with Dr. Bentley and Stan was more than happy to see her this time. When he came limping into her office after school she was surprised at what she saw.

"Stanley, goodness what happened?"

Stan grunted as she helped him into the chair across her desk.

"Had a bully beat me up."

She shook her head. "Wait, _had_?"

Stan sighed and asked for a soda which she passed along. He took a sip of his Pepsi before explaining to her what happened days ago. How he realized he could no longer run from his past and the only thing to do was to face his problems head-on. He explained how he knew his problem with Trent was preventing him from moving forward with his treatment of OCD and hoarding and now that he was out of the picture, he felt confident to go through once again with what he originally came in here for.

"Stanley, honestly I don't know what to say. I'm upset that you did this. Surely there must have been another way to deal with Trent Boyette?" Dr. Bentley said.

"Trust me, there wouldn't have been. He wanted revenge and the only way to get that was to beat us up. Thankfully he took it out on me and didn't do much to my other friends involved. But my parents are pretty pissed. I have a lot of medical-related bills coming to them and I hid this thing for nine years. But I haven't been grounded yet. They don't really know how to deal with it."

"Was it all worth it though? What exactly happened to you?"

Stan drew in a breath. "Broke my nose, broke two ribs, sustained a small fracture to my arm, had to get stitches on my cheek, my other arm, lost a tooth… everything else is just aches and pains and bruises. Had to get a fake tooth put in Friday. Still gotta go back to my orthodontist to fix my bottom row of braces though. (_sigh_) Sucks but like I said, he wouldn't have settled for anything less."

Dr. Bentley looked at her patient. "You told me you feel ready to dig deeper into why you hoard."

Stan bit his lip. "I think so. I want to be. I kind of have an adrenalin rush you know? To try and face all the shit I've been running from."

Dr. Bentley looked at the clock- the session would be over in five minutes. "Look sweetie, I just had my five o'clock on Fridays quit their sessions with me. The spot is still open- for now, if you think you'd like to come in again this week? Maybe I could as they say, 'put you on the couch' then?"

"Um, I guess. You'll have to talk to my parents though."

Once again Stan was facing a situation that was in his control and he hoped he wasn't making the wrong decision about it. Unfortunately this created yet another argument between Sharon and Randy. Randy argued they were already strapped with bills for Stan and they could not afford to send him to the therapist twice in one week. Sharon argued how it didn't matter; they'd make payments, as long as their son got his treatment. They finally did decide on a payment plan and Stan found himself at Dr. Bentley's office at 5 PM Friday.

Instead of the usual can of soda Dr. Bentley wanted Stan to have something to help him relax. He chose a bottle of milk from her little fridge before slowly making his way on the couch on the other side of the room.

"Relax, just calm your body down as I take you back to your young childhood," Dr. Bentley said softly.

Stan was nervous, he didn't want to spill anything he might not want to if he wasn't so relaxed. But she was here to help and surely she had heard of worse things from other kids. Dr. Bentley asked a few basic questions leading into his childhood before the questions turned a bit more detailed.

"What did toys mean to you growing up?"

"They meant a lot. I loved toys. There are still a few things I have that I like to play with now and again. Real cool remote-controlled cars and such," Stan grinned.

"Can you describe to me Stan how you treated your toys as a young child?" Dr. Bentley asked.

"I treated them great, I actually was very careful with my stuff. It's just that…" Stan sighed.

"What dear?"

He sighed again. "It's my sister. Ever since I was small she always wrecked my things. She got a real kick out of hiding or breaking my toys. She would always hide the toys I played with most. She broke my favorite red car when I was four. She tore off the head of a teddy bear right in front of me. She broke game pieces. Wrecked lego sculptures…"

"Oh no, I am so sorry sweetie," Dr. Bentley gasped.

"That's why I took extra care with the toys she didn't mess with. I would hide them and just- make sure she didn't touch them. That's why it's been hard giving away some of them as I grew out of them. They were special to me; I can't say good-bye to my really sweet toys. The ones I've had most fun with. The ones that survived Shelley…" Stan then looked up with a gasp of knowing.

Dr. Bentley smiled. "I think we've just uncovered the first real sign of your hoarding sweetie."

Stan was glaring now. "She never cared about my stuff. I had to hold onto them."

"Now I have in my notes why you started your other collections. How did your parents feel about that?"

"I don't know. It wasn't until I had a good few my Mom started bitching at me about them."

A few minutes later Dr. Bentley moved from toys to something else to try and uncover the root cause for his hoarding.

"What were you afraid of as a young boy?"

Stan had to smirk. "Same things I am now. Snakes. Hospitals and needles. Dying. I remember talking about that stuff in kindergarten."

"I want you to close your eyes- try to remember when you were very young. Before kindergarten if you can. Were there any fears you've had that have stuck perhaps a little longer?"

Stan shut his eyes and focused on his breathing. His arms were relaxed and to his sides. Occasionally he would tap his shoes together.

"I don't really think I've ever been afraid of anything else…"

"I'm not rushing you; just try to think back as far as you can. Or if the fears you've always had were part of a traumatizing experience. Deep breaths, relax…"

Back… back before kindergarten. Before preschool. He saw a small boy running in the grass. The creature was coming right towards him- he had no choice!

"Oh god, I remember. I remember now!"

_September 2005_

Randy was busy bustling around the house, trying to get his family moving along.

"Shelley- fix your hair! Sharon are you not finished packing the cupcakes _yet_? Stanley!"

"Daddy, I'm wearing this shirt today!" Three-year-old Stan was pointing at the green shirt he was wearing with a picture of a turtle kicking a soccer ball.

"I don't care- where are your shoes?"

"In my room."

"Put them on! I want everything to be perfect at my company picnic today and everyone here is taking forever!"

"Well that's what happens when you have a seven-year-old and a three-year-old," Sharon bit back as she passed along shoes to their son.

After some struggle getting everyone and everything in the car they were off. The South Park Geological Survey held a company picnic every year in September. Randy had only been once but life was demanding with two kids so hadn't gone after Stan was born. The park it was being held was a little out of town, about a half hour away. It was nothing but people and noise when they arrived. Thankfully the wife of one of Randy's co-workers offered to help Sharon with the cupcakes she had brought which was difficult as Stan danced around her legs asking for a toy. She passed along a floppy bear.

"Mommy, I wanna see what they have."

It had been a good afternoon so far. The weather was nice and cool and there was plenty for the kids to do. Sharon left Shelley on the playground where a few mothers were keeping watch while she walked around the large park to find something for her son. He enjoyed finger painting at the little booth set up and walking up to all the dogs people had brought along. Thankfully they all seemed to enjoy the tiny boy petting them. After lunch Stan was placed in the sandbox with a few other kids aged five and under. But he didn't want to play with them, he wanted to explore on his own. Thankfully at that moment the little girl across from him went crying over to the woman who was looking after the little kids so Stan snuck away by rolling on the grass that was right by. When he was far enough from the sandbox he wandered off on his own.

Finally! He could have his own adventures with himself and his stuffed bear, Cookie. He was able to get away from where the majority of people were and no one looked down long enough to see an almost-four-year-old walking. Stan then spotted a tree off in the distance. It was a great big tree! It probably had fun roots to climb over and who- knew what else by it. So off he went. There were roots there as well as rocks, some big ones that he could lift!

"I'm strong huh, Cookie?" Stan spoke to the bear as he lifted up a big rock before setting it down. "This is _our_ special spot. We can be here foreva!"

Stan enjoyed himself for the next ten minutes, talking with his bear and running around the tree. He then sat down to catch his breath. That's when he noticed something walk past the tree- it was a dog!

"Look Cookie! Somebody's doggie!" The dog paused at hearing the screech from the child. It was small and brown, a Chihuahua mix. Stan slowly made his way to the animal and took his hand out. The dog sniffed it; Stan laughed as it touched him with his wet nose. "Aww, you a good doggie huh? Imma calling you Teddy. Hey Teddy, wanna meet Cookie?" he held his stuffed bear in front of the dog. "Say hi Cookie!" Stan waved the bear in front of the dog- and the dog took hold. "No! Let go! Leggo Teddy!"

He really was far from the other adults so his cries weren't heard. He struggled with the dog for his beloved stuffed bear but the dog held on, wanting to play. The dog began jumping around the grass as Stan chased and fell each time. The dog pounced again and Stan tripped- over a rock. Eyes wide and full of adrenaline, he threw the rock where it hit the dog in the face. 'Teddy' the dog let go of the bear for a moment before picking it back up and running off into the crowd of people. Eyes full of tears Stan ran back into the fray as well, calling for his mother the whole while. When asked what was wrong he couldn't tell her the truth so he just said he fell. When asked what happened to Cookie he simply replied 'he's gone.'

_Present day_

"I remember now, I remember that night it was hard to sleep," thirteen-year-old Stan's eyes were watery. "Even at that young age I couldn't believe what I had done. I hurt an animal! I've always loved them yet I had done something so terrible, so unforgiving."

"Do you know if the dog was injured in any way?" Dr. Bentley asked gently.

"I don't know. It had to have hurt a little. Even if it didn't I still threw a rock at it and hit it. I can remember days- days after the picnic we visited a family friend and they also had a dog. He jumped around me and made me fall." He sighed. "I- I hated dogs. For a while at least." He wiped an eye. "The guilt I felt, the comfort I got was to steadily hold onto things. The dog took my stuffed bear; I had to make that up with other stuff."

Dr. Bentley looked up from her notes. "So you are feeling guilty for hurting an animal, one that took away a toy of yours, and the way you dealt with it"-

"-was to keep stuff." Stan shook his head. "Oh my god… it sounds so simple now. I knew I had gone through a period when I was little when I was afraid of dogs. I could never remember why but now…" he rubbed his eyes. "But- but this still doesn't explain why I'm OCD."

Dr. Bentley smiled. "No, but Obsessive Compulsive Disorder is a bit more complex. Hoarding is a symptom of it. We will continue to tackle that, but for now… since we now know why you hold onto things, how do you feel about perhaps trying to start the actual healing process?"

Stan sat up straight. "Good. Pretty good. But I still can't get over what I did. I can't let it go now that the memory is fresh again."

"What do you think might be a good way to 'bury the hatchet' as they say? A compromise of some sort?"

Stan looked up. "I've got an idea."

The next day Stan had asked his dad about the co-workers of his ten years ago and if he could remember who had a Chihuahua dog. Randy immediately responded with Hank Westers.

"He still works with us but we don't hang out much. But he's a good guy."

Address in hand, Stan walked to the man's house after school Thursday. Just as he did with Trent Boyette's house, he cautiously knocked on the door. A woman in her 50s opened it.

"Yes, how may I help you?" she asked.

"Um, is there a Hank Westers who lives here?" Stan asked.

The woman's husband stopped at the door. Stan drew in a breath.

"Um, this concerns a dog you have, a Chihuahua mix I think it is?"

"Oh Eddie," the woman gasped and she placed a hand on her chest.

Hank Westers sighed. "I'm sorry; it's just that our Eddie passed away a few years ago. Great little guy."

"Ohh…" Stan's gut tingled. "I'm sorry."

"What did you want to know about him?"

Stan told them who he was and asked if they remembered a company picnic ten years ago. This brought back more memories of Eddie the dog.

"He was a wild one, always jumpy; don't know why I brought him at all to the picnic. But hey, pets were allowed so why not?" Hank shrugged. "He found his way out of the leash holding him down and ran off. Was missing for a half hour or so but he came running back, this time with a stuffed bear in his mouth. Had no idea where it had come from but we allowed him to keep the thing."

Stan looked down. "That bear was mine. Your dog took it from me. I was three so wasn't strong enough to get him back. I was scared of the dog so I- I threw a rock at him so he'd drop my bear." He sighed deeply. "I don't think he was injured but I'm a big animal lover and was riddled with guilt for what I did. But I thought you should know what I did. It would make me feel better if you did."

They admitted they did not see anything wrong with their dog but were happy nonetheless that he had told them. And Stan felt relieved after he did.

"I'm so happy you aren't pissed or anything. This has been eating up at me forever," he said gratefully.

Hank paused and rubbed his chin. "Hold on a moment Stan…" he went into his house and returned a minute later and held out something in his hand. "I think this belongs to you…"

Stan gasped as he saw Cookie the bear. One arm almost ripped off and looking very ruffled due to being a dog's toy. His eyes filled with tears as he held the toy in his hands.

"We think you should take it back home with you son," Hank smiled.

"What? No, I couldn't. It was your dog's favorite toy. You should have it as a memory of him. I hadn't seen this bear since I was three."

"You're the rightful owner our dog stole this from," Mrs. Westers said. "Have it, we want you to. We have plenty of memories with our Eddie. Go on, really."

Stan beamed. "Thank-you so much you guys."

Stan had a very good night's sleep that night. His mother had sewn the loose arm of the bear back on and he had to sleep with it. He couldn't help but feel a sense of closure. Things came full-circle and he was ready now to tackle his hoarding. Next week was going to be a good week.

Next Tuesday Dr. Bentley and organizer Anna came over to help Stan clear out his junk. He was more than willing and told them he had already started sorting through things. Of course he ran into things he had difficulties deciding what to do with but his therapist, organizer, mom, and even surprisingly, Randy encouraged him through the process.

"You can do this Stan, think of all the floor space you're going to have after."

It had taken a week to clear out his bedroom and secret stash of junk in the basement. Some days were easier than others but in the end, he had something to be proud of. Randy had even cleared up a shelf of some of his stuff so Stan could display all his Batman toys and collectibles. Stan was excited to show off the final result to his mom and friends after all was cleared.

"Well, here it is"- he said and popped open the door.

Books were on shelves, gone were the rocks and bottles (save for a few really nice ones). He still had all his magazines but they were stacked neatly on his bookshelf for he had gotten rid of many books he no longer cared about or read. His guitars and small amp sat neatly in their own corner and baseball bats and other sports equipment found a new spot in the garage. All in all, it was a completely different room.

"Oh Stanley…" tears filled Sharon's eyes and she kissed him.

"Hey, this looks pretty nice now actually, I can finally see the floor now," Kyle remarked.

"We- we can have sleepovers in your room again," Butters smiled. (He had been recovering well since his run-in with Trent).

"So now what? Are you cured?" Kyle asked.

Stan sighed. "Not yet. I still have my OCD to deal with but I know I can overcome that. I'm trying not to regret anything now or run from shit. It's going to be hard but I can do this. Some things are okay to collect like Batman. But bottles? What was I thinking?"

Kyle patted his arm. "You can do it dude. You've come this far."

Stan was already feeling confident he wouldn't go back to his old ways; the past wasn't holding onto him any longer. His Obsessive Compulsive Disorder was another story but even that had gotten better. He was only thirteen; he didn't need to freak out just yet. He just had to take it a day at a time. He had his friends, family, therapist, 'happy pills', a good home… life was finally okay for now and all the pain he went through was worth it.

_A/N: And it is complete. It feels so amazing to finally have this done! I decided to focus this story more on all of Stan's problems and therapy. I myself have been going through my own therapy this year and I was inspired to do the same with Stan. (just different circumstances). I hope you enjoyed this. Still trying to get my next chapter-story together. In the meantime there will be plenty of updates in Welcome to the Marsh House. Leave a review, thanks!_

_Lots of love: Rose, August 30, 2012_


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